The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,126
ugly bug-eyed creature hanging above the lake.
He applied more rudder as the Beriev bounced up again, the seaplane curving to port. The gunship tilted to follow. The way was still blocked. One hundred knots.
Another burst of cannon fire—
This time, the Be-200 hit the line of waterspouts. There was a piercing bang somewhere below the cockpit’s right side. Adam felt the jolt of impact through the joystick. His eyes snapped to the display screens. The computers weren’t reporting any damage – but that did not mean the wound was harmless.
One-ten. He jammed the throttles to the detent and pulled back on the stick. The Beriev was still short of takeoff speed, but if it didn’t get airborne now it would never clear the gunship.
Another wave – and the seaplane’s nose pitched upwards. A hundred and fifteen knots. The hull cleared the surface completely . . .
It wasn’t enough.
He felt the roller-coaster sensation again as the plane reached the top of its arc. The Hind hovered gloatingly ahead, weapons pods curled down like mantis claws. If he didn’t cut power immediately, he would crash into it—
The flash of lunatic inspiration was not Gennady’s, but Adam’s own. He didn’t pull back the throttles. Instead he shoved the joystick forward, throwing the plane into a power dive. The Beriev pitched down sharply, water rushing up to meet it . . .
The seaplane hit the lake hard, another eruption of spray blinding its pilot – as he yanked the joystick back and slammed the elevators to their maximum pitch.
The Be-200 skipped off the surface like a thrown stone and climbed again—
Passing right under the gunship.
The tip of the seaplane’s tail scraped the Hind’s belly with a metallic shriek, but the damage it inflicted was nothing compared to the impact of the Beriev’s jet exhaust. With both engines at full power, it was blasting out over thirty thousand pounds of thrust – swatting the helicopter out of the sky.
The gunship was hurled into a corkscrewing spin, rolling as it fell. Its rotors slashed into the water – and the engines’ torque flung the fuselage around in the opposite direction, slamming it down like a hammer. The Hind disintegrated, wreckage tumbling in all directions before being swallowed by the icy void.
But the Beriev was not out of danger. The forced touchdown had slowed it, the airspeed indicator dropping. The bar of land across the lagoon’s mouth was coming up fast – and the seaplane was falling towards it.
Adam grappled with the controls, desperately trying to find extra lift. If he pulled the stick back to climb without increasing speed, it would result in a stall, smashing the Be-200 on the frozen ground. But the indicator needle was rising too slowly. The plane reached one hundred knots again, but it was not enough to stay airborne.
Despite every instinct of Gennady’s screaming for him to stop, he pushed the stick forward again. The altimeter spun down faster – but the plane picked up speed. One-ten, one-fifteen, but the Beriev was only fifty feet above sea level.
Rocks and snow filled his vision . . .
One hundred and twenty knots.
Adam felt the plane’s wings flex, as if it were coming alive. He pulled the stick back. The icy land dropped away—
A fearsome grinding noise echoed through the fuselage as the Beriev’s keel grazed the bar, kicking up a spray of snow and gravel – then the seaplane angled upwards, gaining height.
‘Slava bogu!’ cried Adam, whooping. ‘We made it!’
‘Jesus!’ gasped Tony, still clinging to the other seat. He looked back shakily into the main cabin. ‘Is everyone okay?’
Baxter and his men gave more or less positive responses, the team leader closing the hatch before checking Levin’s wound. Bianca flipped strands of spray-soaked hair off her face. ‘Oh yes, fine,’ she said with withering sarcasm. ‘So what’s the in-flight movie? Alive?’
Adam ignored her, turning the plane south-east. He found a pair of headphones on a hook and donned them, then switched on the radio and listened to the rapid chatter from Provideniya’s control tower. ‘This isn’t good,’ he said.
‘What is it?’ Tony asked.
‘Our plane got away from Provideniya – but the controllers have requested Russian military support to bring them back.’
The blond man was unimpressed. ‘The nearest airbase is, what, two hundred miles from here? There’s no way they’ll catch up before we reach US airspace.’
‘They don’t have to,’ Adam said urgently. ‘They already had two fighters in the air on a long-range exercise – they’re moving to intercept!’