Arctic Wargame (Justin Hall # 1) (18 page)

Thule, Greenland

April 13, 8:40 p.m.

Carrie turned around in time to see a yellow Dodge truck plowing through a snow bank, then fishtailing over the tarmac. It was coming from the direction of the hospital.

“All of you get inside,” Justin said. “Carrie, the chopper. I’ll keep them busy.”

He took her pistol and ran for cover behind their truck. He pointed the M-9 at the fast-approaching Dodge, waiting for the right moment. As the Dodge neared one of the lampposts and the blue glow covered the truck, Justin leveled the sight of his gun with the wheels of the yellow truck. He fired two quick shots. The bullets found their target, piercing the truck tires, and bringing the Dodge to a stop. Two men jumped into the snow bank, scrambling out of the line of fire.

* * *

Maxwell fumbled with the door keys, but he eventually let them into the hangar. After he flicked some light switches, the entire warehouse was flooded by bright, powerful lamps hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Carrie began to admire the helicopters and airplanes in storage, six in all, lined up on both sides of the hangar. Her only dilemma was deciding which aircraft to choose for their getaway flight.

“Is Justin gonna be OK?” Anna asked. The sudden burst of gunshots had brought back her panic shivers.

“He’ll be fine,” Carrie replied, “as long as we’re out of here soon. How about this beauty?” she asked, disappearing behind the aircraft at the far end of the hangar.

* * *

Justin wondered why Carrie was taking her time. He knew it had hardly been two minutes since she entered the hangar, but the unnerving standoff with the two men from the Dodge stretched every waiting second. Another vehicle—he was almost certain it was a Humvee—was approaching his position from the right. No one had returned fire yet, but he knew orders were being transmitted over the communication lines. A firestorm was just around the corner. Justin hoped they would not find themselves in the dead center.

A Bell 212 helicopter rolled slowly over the glistening tarmac with the distinct splutter and fizzle of its engine. It turned left and headed away from him, its rotors still unengaged. Justin found the pilot’s behavior very strange. Was Carrie trying to stop the Humvee?
That’s unnecessary if we’re flying right away.

Before he could draw a conclusion, a much louder rattle shook the entire hangar. Justin felt the ground rocking underneath his feet. He could not believe his eyes as he stared at a large military helicopter appearing through the hangar doors. It rolled heavily over the tarmac, its silver-gray skin reflecting the headlights of the incoming Humvee. Two Hellfire missiles were affixed on each side of the helicopter, and a 7.62mm machine gun was mounted on the left side of the fuselage.

A second later, the machine gun blasted a hailstorm of bullets, raising endless sparks a few feet in front of the Dodge.
Carrie.
She maneuvered the helicopter, completing a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree pirouette, and sprayed a similar torrent of fire against the Humvee. The Humvee skidded over black ice while dodging the helicopter’s barrage, and it flipped over before crushing deep into a snow bank.

Justin dashed for the helicopter, which was hovering about seven feet over the runway.

Anna slid open the metallic door on the right side of the cabin and gestured for him to climb aboard. “Come on. Hurry up.”

Justin went for the doorsill, but all he could grasp was the cold, slippery wheel of the landing gear. “It’s too high.” He motioned for Carrie to lower the helicopter.

Anna relayed Justin’s message to Carrie, and she dropped the helicopter another foot or so. Justin sprang upward and grabbed Anna’s outstretched hand. She gave him a strong pull, much stronger than he had expected, and he was able to drag half of his body inside the cabin. He saw one of the crew seats by the door, and he went for its closest leg. He wrapped his fingers around the steel post, and he dug his elbows on the cabin floor.

“I’m good to go,” he shouted. “Good to go.”

The helicopter gained altitude, and Carrie veered to the left, giving Justin a helpful nudge. The shifting force threw him against the crew seat. As he clenched his teeth in pain, Anna slid the cabin door shut.

“Welcome aboard, Justin,” Carrie greeted him.

He struggled to catch his breath, while throwing a quick look around the cabin. Gray and black equipment racks and operation consoles stood against the navy blue walls. Emily was crouched in the co-pilot’s seat in the cockpit, next to Carrie. Anna sat next to him. Once their eyes locked, she gave him a warm hug.

Justin fetched a helmet from one of the crew compartments, fastened it on, and adjusted the volume on its earphone. “I thought you were going for the med chopper.”

“Why settle for an ugly duckling, when you can have a gorgeous swan?” Carrie replied. “Or in our case, a hawk. An S-70 B Seahawk.”

“Wow,” Justin said, as he brushed his hand over the leather seats and kept gazing at the helicopter’s interior design. “I’ve always wanted to fly in a Seahawk. Maybe not in such a crazy situation.”

“Don’t get too excited, because we aren’t going too far,” Emily said. “The blizzard will force us down for sure.”

“Not too worried about the breeze,” Carrie replied with a grin. “The chopper has so many sat-nav gadgets, we can fly blindfolded all the way home.”

Thump, thump, thump. The sound resembled heavy hammers viciously pounding against a massive anvil.

“What was that?” Anna asked.

“The Americans are shooting at us,” Carrie replied calmly, checking the control panels. All navigational instruments and screens seemed unaffected by the sporadic gunfire.

She tapped the throttle, and the helicopter jerked forward. A second later, the vehicle began a quick ascent, climbing about fifteen feet per second.

Carrie said, “The chopper’s built to resist small arms fire. In a minute, we’ll be out of their range anyway.”

“We won’t crash?” Anna said. The pouncing had stopped, but her voice was still shaky. She was blinking rapidly, holding on to Justin’s arm.

“There’s no real danger coming from outside,” Carrie replied. “The Seahawk has isolated control systems, separate for each rotor blade. Even if one system is damaged, the other will allow the pilot to maintain full control of the chopper.”

“Oh, really?” Emily sneered. Then she shouted, “Watch out for the mountain.”

“What mountain?” Carrie asked, sitting up in her seat.

“The Dundas Mountain. That freaking one!” Emily shouted even louder, pointing directly ahead of them. “We’re gonna crash!”

Carrie squinted. Through the clearing haze, she noticed the rocky cliffs, gray and black, ragged and huge, and growing larger by the second. The helicopter was headed straight for them at about one hundred knots. She flicked on a couple of switches. Two powerful light beams swung over the knifelike surface of the mountain.

“What? You didn’t turn the lights on?” Emily shouted.

“We were an easy target even in the dark. We took a few bullets, in case you didn’t notice,” Carrie replied. “And I wasn’t expecting a mountain right off the base, but hold on,” she shouted needlessly over the microphone, “we’ll climb it.”

She tapped the throttle and held it while pulling back. The engines screamed. The Seahawk soared upward, faster and faster. Carrie veered the helicopter to the right, attempting a ninety-degree turn. Wind gusts were stronger alongside sharp slopes like these ones. They were capable of throwing down even large aircraft during blizzards.

Their distance from the mountain was getting smaller and smaller.

A hundred and fifty feet.

A hundred feet.

Fifty.

One of the screens beeped an alarm sound, informing Carrie of the dangerous proximity between their helicopter and the obstacle. She wrestled with the controls and the throttle, as the Seahawk angled off, further to the right, struggling to complete the tight turn.

She cursed under her breath.

The tail rotor blades swung toward the cliffs, as Carrie pulled on the throttle, hurling the aircraft sideways in a last do-or-die spin. The alarm kept screeching its distress signal. The terrifying sound of doom pierced throughout the panic-stricken cockpit. Carrie ignored Emily’s screaming. As she turned her head to the left, the flat-top surface of the cliffs sank below the helicopter.

“We’re clear. We’re above the mountain,” she said over the microphone.

Emily had stopped shrieking, but her mouth was still wide open, and her eyes were clamped shut. She raised her eyelids, one at a time. Her eyes bounced back and forth, shifting from Carrie’s face to the control panels, the cockpit floor, and finally at her own arms and hands.

“We’re OK.” Carrie placed her hand on Emily’s head, stroking her short blonde hair. “Everything’s OK.”

Emily nodded silently. Carrie glanced behind her seat. Anna gave her a shy smile and a nod of approval. Anna had not uttered a single whisper, let alone a shriek or a scream during the entire ordeal. Justin, on the other hand, had kept silent, because he knew Carrie was going to do the impossible to save them. He also knew you can have only one pilot in a helicopter at a time.

“Great job, Carrie,” he said. “You’re the only one I know who could have pulled it through.” He raised his right hand, making a thumbs-up gesture.

“Thank you, Justin,” Carrie replied.

Carrie gave Justin a mischievous smile, as her gaze caught Anna’s hands wrapped tight around Justin’s arm.

Chapter Seventeen

Ten miles east of Saunders Island, Greenland

April 13, 9:10 p.m.

A few minutes had passed since their narrow escape, and the blizzard had grown wilder. Strong wind gusts and heavy snow blasts were tossing the small bird in all directions. Carrie grasped and released the throttle and worked the control panel, using every trick in the book to keep the helicopter in the air. The Seahawk kept rocking to the left and to the right, constantly dropping and climbing. At four thousand feet over the ocean, the view from the cockpit was a dense curtain of gray fog, twisting and twirling in a restless vortex.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Emily asked.

“We just passed over Saunders Island,” Carrie replied. “My goal is to keep us in a straight path, as much as possible.”

As if to object to her claim, a strong downdraft pushed the helicopter a few feet to the left, as if some sort of gigantic flyswatter were trying to whack the Seahawk down to the waters.

Emily snorted. “Straight like that?”

The high-frequency radio on the control panel crackled with a static sound. Carrie tapped a couple of switches. “This is HAC Carrie O’Connor,” she said, after muting the audio feed to the rest of the crew.

She guessed it was the air base back in Thule, and she wanted to keep their threats or pressure to herself, at least for the time being. Despite the fact that piloting was not her profession, she decided to switch to aviator’s lingo. HAC stood for Helicopter Aircraft Commander. “Identify yourself,” she continued over the radio.

“This is Colonel Richard Clark, Commander of the 821st Air Base Group in Thule. I’m ordering your immediate return to my base.” The colonel spoke in a clear and confident voice.

“Commander, I see you missed our departure. I’m sorry we had to leave without saying goodbye.”

Justin knocked on the side of Carrie’s seat. Carrie raised her hand and made a stop gesture without turning her head.

“Carrie, if you keep flying, you’re doomed,” the commander said. “You’re barely fifteen miles off the coast. Come back, and we’ll ensure your safe landing.”

“Safe landing? Where? In the den of lions? Our chances are better if we keep our current course.”

“You can’t be serious. It’s impossible to make it across the ocean in this kind of weather. You’re going to kill everyone on board.”

“I don’t think so. We’re gonna make it, or at least try to, since we have a choice up here, unlike when we ‘enjoyed’ your hospitality.”

“What did you expect me to do?”

“We expected you to act as a trusted ally of Canada, with whom the US shares more than just a border. Commander, we asked you for simple courtesies, which you denied us. You practically locked us up in our rooms, as if we were dangerous felons.”

“You would have done exactly the same thing. Think about it for a second. Suddenly I’m responsible for three people who’ve been rescued in high seas. They’re on their deathbeds, but doctors are able to treat them, saving their lives. Instead of a simple ‘thank you,’ these ingrates bullshit me about a Danish invasion and request my intervention in the internal affairs of another sovereign country—”

“Oh, please, Commander,” Carrie said. “The US is notorious for sticking their nose into other countries’ businesses, especially those who don’t like to kiss a Yankee’s ass. If we had more time, I wouldn’t mind lecturing you on the US foreign policy, since you seemed to be out of the loop.”

“Enough,” he barked. “Don’t forget that you asked me to do the same exact thing of which you’re accusing my country.”

“Wrong . . .” She bit her lips as the Seahawk wrestled with an air pocket draft, which threw the helicopter a few feet upward. Carrie checked the altimeter and a few gauges and screens. “Sorry about the interruption, we’re fighting small turbulence here.” Carrie had resumed talking after making sure the helicopter kept jerkily but steadily to the established course. “That’s it, Commander. Now I’ve got better things to do.”

“Wait,” the commander spoke faster, his voice sizzling with anger. “You’ve kidnapped one of my people, and you’ve stolen my fifty-million-dollar Seahawk. You started by lying. Now you’ve added these crimes to your list. You wonder why I don’t trust you folks.”

“Sir, my compliments for loading Hellfire missiles and filling up the chopper’s auxiliary tanks. This way, we’ll have enough fuel to make it back home. Oh, and thank you for the emergency flotation system also. A very nice finishing touch. I just hope we won’t need to use it.”