Assault on Alpha Base Page 9

  “Would it be hard?”

  McGriffin studied the crater. “No. There’s plenty of room.”

  “You’re not going to try it, are you?”

  “And chance getting stuck? No thanks. I’ve got to work tonight.” He pulled up and buzzed the ridge. “How did you find this place?”

  “I just wanted to get away, do some camping. It’s nice down there.”

  McGriffin was silent. He pulled up and brought the aircraft around. “I know what you mean.” He glanced at his watch. “We’re approaching the one-hour mark. I’ve got to get back.”

  “You’re worse than Cinderella. Can’t you go to work a little late?”

  “And turn into a pumpkin? Maybe some other day. I’ve got some errands to run before getting to work.”

  They followed the same dirt road back, keeping at a higher altitude to avoid the thermals. They kept to themselves most of the way. McGriffin broke the silence.

  “What brings you out here, Vikki?”

  “A job.”

  “What do you do?”

  She turned and looked out the window. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

  “Okay.” McGriffin drew in a breath. It always seemed the women he got introduced to either treated him like a brother or a jerk—which gave credence to being unequally yoked. And that brought his thoughts back to Linda. He flew without speaking.

  Vikki turned from the window. “Bill, I like you a lot, but for a while let’s just keep out of each other’s past. I’ve got some things to sort out.”

  McGriffin mulled it over. “Sounds fair. I guess I’m in the same boat.” He shrugged. His hopes flickered, and he felt strangely content. Vikki was really different. She wasn’t as glamorous as Linda, but she was more self-assured. That’s it—it was a sense of self-confidence Vikki possessed, a worldliness—yet not egotistical. He thought briefly about asking her about her beliefs, but got cold feet—he had been burned too many times to be laughed at.

  McGriffin dismissed the thought and felt angry with himself. Glancing over at her, she smiled at him and turned back to looking out the window.

  Here he’d gone out with her only once, and he was already thinking like a teenager. They flew back in silence, warm in each other’s presence.

  Chapter 11

  Friday, 17 June, 1120 local

  Picnic Area outside of Alpha Base

  Britnell pulled a jug of wine from the picnic basket. He threw a smile at Vikki as he screwed open the top. High class, mused Vikki. Twist-top wine.

  A helicopter beat overhead, flying away from Alpha Base. Vikki concentrated on the inside of the fence while Britnell poured the wine. The barracks, security building, and command post were arranged in a tight knot just inside the four fences. The picnic area seemed like an oasis in the shadow of the fortresslike Alpha Base. She compared the view with the drawings on the map Britnell had slipped her. The words for official use only were scratched out on the top and bottom of the document.

  Britnell shoved Vikki a glass of pink Chablis. It tasted like wet cardboard, but she sipped delicately on it. She leaned back and ran a hand across his arm.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go on duty. Seven days is a long time not to see you.”

  Britnell broke into a smile. “There’s a way I might be able to get around that.”

  “Really?”

  “I was saving it for a surprise. I checked with my first sergeant. He’s scheduled my partner, Clayborn, and me on the Omega shift this week, patrolling Alpha Base from outside the fence. That killer rabbit we tracked down three weeks ago impressed the hell out of him, so he’s giving us a break.”

  “Outside shift?”

  “Yeah. One of the crews gets to patrol the area outside of Alpha Base instead of pulling guard duty inside.”

  “Ummm. So we can see each other.” She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Why don’t I give you a call when I’m free?”

  “Sure. When?”

  Vikki thought rapidly—Harding needed at least a twenty-four-hour heads-up before starting the raid, and she still needed to get the call signs. “Let’s plan on tomorrow night, nine-thirty, unless I call.”

  Britnell threw back the glass and chugged the wine. He poured himself another glass. “You got it. Tomorrow night, nine-thirty, unless I hear otherwise. We’ll meet right here, and I’ll take you out with us.”

  She leaned over. She pushed him back onto the ground and kissed him hard. “What I’ve got in mind, I think maybe just you should show up and leave your partner back home.”

  Britnell thought it over as Vikki kissed his neck; he caressed her hair and grinned. “Yeah. Clayborn can take a siesta. No problem.”

  Vikki held him tight for some minutes. Rolling over, she brought up the map that he had given her. She studied the paper and waited a minute until he downed another glass. “What are these symbols?”

  Britnell grabbed for the area map of Alpha Base and stabbed at the markings designated P, T, S, and M. “These are pressure, temperature, sonic, and motion sensors. Your company will have to avoid them when they build the new barracks. They’re buried all over the place.”

  She folded the map and leaned over to kiss his neck. “I can’t wait until I see you again.”

  “I’d like to see you tonight, but the first evening of my shift overlaps with the last shift’s—it’s all briefings for us tonight. But at least I’ll be there with a buzz on.” He eyed the remaining bottle of wine. “Want any more?”

  Vikki shook her head.

  He grinned lopsidedly and polished it off.

  1310 local

  Wendover, Nevada

  Vikki checked the number in the Wendover AFB phone book one more time before she called. Three phone numbers were listed under Base Operations. She entered the first, and as the phone rang, she hoped she had picked the right number.

  “Base Ops.”

  Vikki spoke quickly and tried to sound frantic. “My boyfriend is flying into Wendover tomorrow night. Is there any way to find out when he’s scheduled to arrive?”

  A bored voice answered, “Do you have a call sign?”

  “No, I don’t.” Vikki bit her lip. She knew that all aircraft used call signs, or a code name, to identify themselves over the radio. With the proper call sign, it was easy to masquerade as another plane. But according to Harding, the Air Force changed their call signs periodically.

  “We usually don’t have the flights posted until several hours before they get here … but I have a C-130 out of Peterson AFB, Colorado, scheduled to get in at 2300 hours. Does that help?”

  “Yes, it does. Do you have its call sign?”

  “Merry Zero Three.”

  “Thank you.” A thrill ran through her; that was almost too easy. After she hung up, she dialed again, carefully entering the international access code for Mexico. The phone was answered on the seventh ring.

  “Harding.”

  “Tomorrow night at eleven o’clock a C-130 is due to land at Wendover. I’ve got the call sign.”

  “Good. We can fly into Wendover AFB using that call sign a half hour before it’s due and not raise any suspicion; but it gives us only a half hour to get everything unloaded. What about the IFF? Are you going to be able to get hold of one to get around Alpha Base’s sensors?”

  Remembering Britnell’s boast of having an IFF on his Bronco, Vikki said, “I should be able to do it.”

  It sounded like Harding placed a hand over the receiver; he came back a minute later. “Okay, tomorrow night is the night. We’ll meet you at the staging area tomorrow morning, sunrise.” The line went dead.

  Vikki hung up, flush with excitement that the assault was coming together.

  1640 local

  Wendover, Nevada

  “A penny for your thoughts.”

  “Huh?” Vikki shook her head. McGriffin sat across from her and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. Vikki flushed, suddenly feeling foolish that she hadn’t been listening to him. “
Sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “I could tell.” McGriffin pushed his vegetables to one side of his plate. He cut into his prime rib, took a bit. “I really appreciate you spending an early dinner with me.”

  “What?” Vikki swung her hand around, taking in the casino. “And miss all this?”

  McGriffin laughed. “I know four in the afternoon isn’t good for the appetite, but since I have to work—”

  Vikki placed a hand on top of McGriffin’s. He stopped talking. She smiled. “I said, don’t worry about it. It’s nice to be able to just talk. Besides, like I said, I’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

  “I’m glad you told me. Maybe we can see each other when you get back.”

  “Yeah.” She set her mouth.

  He didn’t move his hand. She felt awkward at first, like a teenager. But it felt so good just to be able to sit and talk, and know he wasn’t trying to get her in bed. Withdrawing her hand, she toyed with her food. “So don’t you ever get a break?”

  “We’re kind of shorthanded now—but I thought we weren’t going to pry into each other’s life.”

  “You’re right.” She took a bite and chewed slowly, watching him. McGriffin cut at his steak and wolfed the food down; but unlike Britnell—or Harding, for that matter—even in his haste his manners were impeccable.

  She toyed with her food. “You know, when we first met, you said you didn’t go out and do the tourist bit. Especially where you used to live.”

  McGriffin swallowed. “Yeah. I could never seem to find the time to relax, enjoy the sights. I’ve always had to have something going on. You know, busy jogging, working on the house …” He drew quiet at the mention of his house, as if something bothered him.

  Vikki studied his face. His dark hair was stylishly cut, but it was a bit on the short side, even though it was long compared to how Britnell wore his hair. McGriffin was solidly built and quite good-looking; and even though he was suddenly withdrawn, he had a playful gleam in his eye. Whatever had been in his past, she would be very surprised if he had not been intimately involved with someone. She felt close to him.

  Vikki said, “I know what you mean. I grew up in Colorado and never got a chance to see some of the touristy areas, like Pikes Peak, Garden of the Gods, the Air Force Academy—”

  McGriffin started coughing.

  Vikki frowned. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I’m okay.” McGriffin wiped at his mouth. He wet his lips as if he wanted to say something.

  Vikki cocked her head. “Is anything the matter?”

  “No.” He picked up his fork. “Ah, where in Colorado did you say you lived?”

  “Monument. That’s about ten miles from Colorado Springs, just north of the Air Force Academy.”

  McGriffin’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You do? How’s that?”

  He cut a slice of prime rib. “It’s a long story.” He glanced at his watch. “Uh, I’ve really got to hurry. Do you think we can get together for a real date after you get back—you know, spend some time where I don’t have to worry about getting to work?”

  “Sure.” Vikki smiled and brushed back her hair. She didn’t know if she could ever make it, but even if she had to come back to Wendover as a fugitive, McGriffin might be worth the risk. He seemed to be everything that Harding had never turned out to be.

  What’s more, McGriffin was just the thing she needed to get her mind off the assault.

  Chapter 12

  Saturday, 18 June, 0547 local

  Humboldt National Forest

  One Hundred Miles Northwest of Wendover

  Standing in the Chevy van’s door, Vikki pushed her hair from her eyes. The sun just peeked over the eastern range, bringing a flood of warming sunlight. It wasn’t cold enough to see her breath, but she shivered just the same. The additional five thousand feet in altitude from Wendover was more than enough to cause the chill.

  The air smelled of ozone—the pine-fresh vigor of mountain living. The wind whooshed through the trees, sounding spooky. She’d almost be willing to give up everything to stay there forever.

  And bury her head in the sand, ignoring the atrocities that lay waiting at Alpha Base.

  No, she was too involved to back down now. She glanced at her watch and waited for the sound that would start it all.

  Another ten minutes passed before she heard it. The plane’s engines bounced off the mountainsides, rolling down the meadow. The roar grew in intensity; it violated the serenity hanging in the valley. Purple and yellow flowers waved in the fields, seeming to beckon the plane on.

  Suddenly, the plane popped over the crest line. It dove for the meadow, making an impossible turn, flying past trees and house-size boulders. Engines roaring, the black C-130 seemed to fall from the sky.

  Cliffs guarded one end of the meadow. A gentle slope led to a lake, ringed with trees, at the opposite end. The four-engine craft dropped for the pond.

  Its wheels barely clipped the treetops. The plane hit the edge of the meadow and bounced twice. Its engines shook the ground as they reversed, slowing the low-slung craft. Dust and decapitated flowers sprayed up into the air, covering the airplane in a fog of debris.

  Vikki squinted and placed a hand over her eyes. The C-130 transport emerged from the dust. It traveled the mile stretch, reaching the end of the meadow, and turning just before reaching the cliffs.

  When Harding told her of the mercenary’s C-130, Vikki consulted Jane’s All the World’s Aircraft to find out for herself about the squat four-engined transport. An ultrareliable troop carrier, the model L-100-30 C-130 Hercules “stretch Herky bird” played many roles. It carried troops, airlifted supplies, dropped twenty-thousand-pound bombs, inserted airborne rangers, recovered satellites, scooped up pails of water from the ocean—the list was almost endless. Obtained from a second party, the elongated civilian version of the military C-130 was as much of a legend as the old “Gooney Bird.”

  Vikki’s eyebrows rose; she was impressed. She had had her doubts about using the remote mountain meadow as a staging area, but any second thoughts were dashed by seeing the transport’s performance. She lowered her hands, pulled her jacket closer to her, and stepped down from the van.

  A door opened from the C-130’s side. A tall, erect man dressed in khaki jumped nimbly from the craft as it slowed to a halt. Anthony Harding followed. He stumbled slightly. The tall man steadied him and they both jogged to Vikki. The engines slowed, falling in pitch.

  The man flashed Vikki a smile. He slapped his hands together to keep them warm as they approached. “Ms. Osborrn?” She nodded. “I’m Colonel Macklin Renault. Is everything ready?”

  Vikki nodded, her mouth tight.

  “The moving van?”

  “It’s outside my apartment.”

  Harding reached into the back and pulled a jacket from the van. He asked, “What about the call signs?”

  Vikki reached into the front and dug a sheet of paper from the glove compartment. She handed it over to Renault. “These are valid until tomorrow night. As I told Anthony, Wendover is expecting a C-130 from Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado to land and refuel at eleven o’clock tonight. You have to be on time to get there before him.”

  Renault studied the sheet, then folded it and placed it in his top pocket. “Good. We’ll have half an hour before anyone discovers there are two C-130’s. By that time my C-130 will be gone and the attack will be under way.”

  Harding blew on his hands, trying to warm them in the morning cold. “Might as well have your men get out and relax, Colonel. They’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  Renault paid Harding sparse attention. He scanned the mountains that formed a near-perfect bowl around them. “Have you seen anybody up here?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t like this. We’re too much in the open.” He turned and studied the trees. “There’s not enough foliage to cover the plane. We’ll have to pull out the camouflage.” He started for the C-
130.

  Harding ignored him and climbed into the van. Vikki frowned, and ran after Renault. “What’s going on?” She caught up with him. Renault took long strides, not slowing down for Vikki.

  “The aircraft stands out like a sore thumb. If anyone sees it, it will blow our cover.”

  “I told you we’re alone.”

  “If you made it here, Ms. Osborrn, then anyone else could, too. But it’s not the hikers or campers I’m worried about. It’s what’s up in the air. We flew in low enough to avoid radar, but now that we’re on the ground, the whole area is probably under a random satellite surveillance, designed to spot any infiltration such as this.”

  “But the plane is in the shadows.”

  “That doesn’t stop it from emitting in the infrared. We’ve got to get some cover on it.” They reached the combat door. Renault swung aboard and Vikki followed seconds later.

  As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she counted fifty men lining the front side of the transport. They sat on webbed pallet seating, watching her in silence. A vehicle took up half the back of the stretched C-130. APC—Armored Personnel Carrier, she thought. She had done her homework well. She’d also made sure she knew everything about their weapons.

  Constructed of a composite hull, the APC was originally designed for use by the Marines. Ceramic tiles were sandwiched in between an outer aluminum skin and an inner skin of reinforced fiberglass. When an armor-piercing shell tried to penetrate the APC’s body, the tiles would shatter, diffusing the shell’s energy through its body.

  Renault ran a hand proudly across the APC’s body; his demeanor seemed to suddenly change. “You can thank your military-industrial complex for this, Ms. Osborrn. One or two simple bribes, and its delivery to a third party was never accomplished. I wonder how many more we could have ordered before we were caught.”

  Vikki answered coolly, “If you’re so against our military-industrial complex, Colonel, then why aren’t you doing this for free?”

  Renault scowled. Turning, he snapped an order.

  A crew of five men scurried to the rear, squeezing past the APC. A jump door opened in the back, allowing light to peek into the darkened aircraft. Grunting, the men pushed a large bag across the deck and out the hatch. Dust billowed up when it hit the ground.