Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (25 page)

It was like being inside a rollercoaster that was out of control, the nose slowly turning, and the tailplane beginning to rise as the weight of the aircraft pushed its front further into the snow. Then they went completely over.

Talley had a dim recollection of Guy switching off and isolating the electrical power before they flipped upside down onto a piece of hard rock, only thinly covered by snow. His webbing harness broke, and he was tossed out of his seat, landing headfirst on what seconds before had been the cockpit roof. Even though he was still wearing his helmet, he saw stars. He was conscious of the aircraft starting to tilt on the missing starboard wing, threatening to roll over again and plunge them from the edge of a sheer rock face. Someone was shouting, and he tried to reply, but his head banged something hard, and he saw nothing.

"
Senior Lieutenant Wang, respond! Talk to me, Wang. What is your situation? Have you shot them down?"

The static came back to him from the speaker in the communications room, mocking him. He tried, repeatedly. Still nothing. The telephone rang, and the communications officer answered. He looked across at Xilong.

"It is Qamdo Air Base, Sir. They've lost touch with their aircraft. They think it has been destroyed."

He stared at the man as if he was mad. "Destroyed? Impossible! Against a mere unarmed cargo aircraft?"

"Perhaps it was an in-flight accident, a structural failure?"

"Bullshit! Tell them to send another fighter."

The man spoke on the phone for a few minutes and turned back to Xilong with a frightened face.

"They maintain that conditions in the area are so severe, it could result in the loss of a second aircraft. They believe both aircraft may have crashed. There are several monitoring stations in the region, and they heard a multi-engined aircraft for a short time and then nothing."

"Is that definite? They've crashed?"

"They're fairly certain, yes, Sir."

"Crashed? Or crash landed?"

"I, er, there is no evidence either way. A crash landing is possible."

"Fuck it!"

He spat out the curse for a second time, and the man recoiled.

"Get the base commander to report to me in the control tower. Tell him to hurry. We don't have much time."

"At once, Sir."

He hurried out of the room, raced up the stairs, and entered the tower. The controllers regarded him nervously, but he ignored them and stared outside at the weather.

Is the snowstorm easing? It’s possible.

"Major Xilong, I am Colonel Zhao. How can I help you?"

The man was senior in rank, yet Xilong was a member of State Security.

"I want a helicopter, a gunship, to follow the course of the aircraft you foolishly allowed those bandits to steal from your air base."

"I allowed nothing! Many of my men were killed during the attack, and…"

Xilong held up his hand for the man to stop. "I don't care, Colonel. You are in command here at Tama, and the responsibility lies with you. It may be there will be a thorough investigation, to assess whether there has been treachery at work here." He smiled inwardly as the senior officer paled, "Of course, if you prove you did everything in your power to cooperate and recover the situation, you will no doubt be exonerated. Otherwise…"

Zhao gulped. "Give me fifteen minutes."

"You have five. After that, I call Beijing."

The Colonel rushed out, and he waited, pleased as always with the terror his rank and organization inspired in lesser mortals. They'd give him anything to get him out of their cozy air base as fast as possible.

Five minutes and twenty seconds later, the phone rang.

"Major Xilong? The helicopter is fueled and ready to take off. Please step outside. You will find it two hundred meters behind the tower."

"Very well. I will go with it to make sure we locate and kill these bandits."

"Very well, Major."

He ran down the stairs and stepped out into the bitterly cold night. He realized he should have asked for flying kit, but pride made him ignore the cold. He walked the short distance to the waiting helicopter, his boots crunching in the snow.

He cursed when he got close to the machine. He was a soldier, not a flyer, and had assumed a gunship meant a troop-carrying helicopter fitted with door-mounted machineguns, and possibly missiles on the landing skids. They'd given him a CAIC WZ-10, named the 'Fierce Thunderbolt'. An armored, two-seater ground attack craft. There was only space for a pilot and gunner. Through the snowstorm, he could see a man walking away, the gunner. When he insisted on going along, it meant the gunner had to stand down. The pilot was gesturing toward the seat in the nose. The seat used by the gunner to operate the chin-mounted 30mm cannon.

It was too late to go back, too late to call it off, even though he'd intended to take half a dozen troops to help with the search for the wreckage. He'd be a laughing stock if he admitted he'd requested the wrong aircraft, and besides, time was running out. He had to finish this quickly, and even though survivors were only a faint possibility in this mountainous region, he had to make sure. If anyone still lived up on those peaks, it wouldn't be for much longer. He sat in the cramped and uncomfortable seat, fumbled with the straps, and donned the headset. It came to life immediately.

"Pilot to gunner, this is Lieutenant Li. I'm ready to take off. Stand by."

The bastard didn't wait for him to confirm he was strapped in, or even that the door was shut. The two WZ-9 turboshafts roared, the huge rotor turn faster, and then they were soaring up into the sky, with the nose tilted down at an alarming angle.

"Pilot to gunner, I have the approximate location where the aircraft was last seen. Are you able to add anything useful?"

Arrogant bastard, I'll have his balls cut off for disrespecting a State Security officer.

"Get us to that location, pilot. As fast as you can."

The man didn't reply, and Xilong attempted to settle himself in for the long cold flight up into the Himalayas. He recalled from somewhere that helicopters didn't have the ability to fly at high altitudes like fixed wing aircraft, and he called the pilot again.

"How high can you fly this machine?"

The reply was immediate. "About six thousand meters. Provided the ground crew have done their job properly, and the engines don't overheat in the thinner air we'll encounter."

"And how high is the likely crash site of that Y-7?"

"Six thousand meters, give or take."

Damn! Someone’s playing games. Why couldn't these Air Force people make it clear I’d need something more suitable? They knew where I’m going? Perhaps I could entertain that Air Force Colonel in my basement cell when I get back. If I survive, that is.

They flew on, and he got colder and colder. He looked around for any kind of a heating control, but there was nothing. He knew by the time he got back, he could be suffering from hypothermia. And there was nothing he could do about it now, not a thing. His earpiece clicked as the pilot contacted him.

"Major, we're coming up on that site now. I think I can see wreckage in the distance."

He looked down eagerly. There it was, and without doubt, the wreckage of a Chinese transport aircraft. One wing was missing, but the fuselage looked to be intact, and he could see a small group of survivors huddled nearby.

How do I operate this cannon?

* * *

"Abe, Abe. Can you hear me?"

That's who
was calling to me just before the
aircraft hit. Grace.

He opened his eyes and saw her staring anxiously at him. "I'm okay."

"Try moving your limbs, your arms and legs."

He did as she told him, and although everything was bruised and painful, it all worked. She smiled when she understood he was not badly injured.

But why
should I be injured? What happened?

Abruptly, vicious, biting cold cut into him, and he remembered it all.

Jesus Christ, we're halfway up the Himalayas!

He could feel his teeth chattering, no, he could hear them chattering. He was aware his body was shaking violently. She leaned over and held him, pulling their bodies together. Even through the thick clothing, he was grateful for the warmth and softness of her.

"You need to rest," she murmured softly, "Just for a few moments. You were unconscious after the crash, and right now I think you're in shock."

"Sure, I can do that."

Except something was troubling him, and he couldn't work out what it was. Then it came flooding back to him.

Jesus Christ, we're trapped up here, and the hunt is already on. Shooting down that plane will make them redouble their efforts to catch us, to kill us. We have to start moving south toward Nepal.

He pushed her off him and started to climb to his feet.

"No, no you have to rest," she protested.

She fussed around him, but he held her away.

"I'll rest later. Were there any casualties? Where's Guy?"

A familiar voice came from behind him.

"I'm right here, Boss. We're all good. You were the only injury, but there'll be a heap more if we stay on this mountain. We'll have a choice, hypothermia or Chinese machine gun fire."

"Can they all walk?"

"Most of them will manage, if the cold doesn't get them first. The exception is Tempa Rinpoche. He doesn't look good."

"What happened to him? Was he thrown about when the aircraft hit?"

Guy shrugged. "I can't make any sense of it. He wasn't injured in the crash, but he's just fading, and I mean fading fast. It's almost like he's lost the will to live. Except in his case, I don't believe that. He refused to move when I talked to him."

"We'll have to take him with us. We can rig up a gurney. Let's go take a look at him."

He staggered as he stood up, and the icy gale force wind nearly knocked him off his feet. It made him realize how weak he was. Guy reached down and picked up an aluminum strut lying next to the wreckage and handed it to him.

"You'd better use this. You'll need it if you're going to make it out of here."

He was about to object, but when he put his weight on the strut using it as a walking staff, he found it helped. He nodded his thanks.

Tempa Rinpoche was lying in the snow, stretched out in the lee of the aircraft, which protected him from the worst of the wind. The nuns were clustered around him, praying as ever. Campbell was standing nearby, talking to Lobsang Cho. He went up to the American.

"Campbell, I gather he isn't too good."

"He's dying, Commander."

"Maybe, maybe not, we need a medic to check him out. We'll improvise a gurney and carry him. If we get him out of here, he may stand a chance. Was it the beating he took or the crash that caused the problem?"

Cho intervened, shaking his head. "You don't understand. He wants to die. The Rinpoche is reciting prayers to the Lord Buddha, asking him to spare our lives in return for his. We are to leave him here."

Brooks appeared from inside the wrecked fuselage, carrying the supplies he'd been searching for. Rovere came up behind him clutching a tarpaulin, and then Drew Jackson appeared with two rucksacks. The Admiral looked at them.

"What's going on?"

He explained what Cho had said about Tempa Rinpoche.

"He wants us to leave him here! No way. No fucking way!" He looked at Cho, "The way we operate, my friend, is this. We never leave anyone behind, unless it's impossible to get them out. When we start walking, your friend Rinpoche comes with us."

The Tibetan raised his eyebrows. "Against his will? That would make you as bad as the Chinese, Admiral. You must respect his wishes. Besides, it may be the only way we can escape from here."

Brooks' expression was hard. "I'm not sure we're on the same page here. Unless I misunderstand the situation, you're telling me that Tempa Rinpoche plans to freeze his balls off up on this mountain. And in some way his prayers are going to save us from the Chinese, who even now will be searching for us, doing their best to kill us. Have I got that right?"

"He started to die when he brought in the snowstorm that allowed us to escape from Tama Air Base. It was his choice, as it is now. He won't leave."

Brooks stared at him, then at Talley and Rovere. "What do we do? I'm not a believer in religious intervention. That snowstorm back at Tama was just a convenient coincidence. I mean, I'm really grateful to all of them for trying, but that's as far as it goes."

He realized that no one was speaking. "What? Don't tell me you believe in this nonsense?"

Grace stared at him. "It is not nonsense, Admiral. It happened."

He turned to her. "Are you speaking as a CIA operative or as a Buddhist nun, Miss Ferraro? Since we arrived in this country, I've not been too sure which agenda you're following."

She remained calm. "The same agenda as yours, but you must accept that Tempa Rinpoche is staying here. And we must leave now, otherwise we'll freeze even before the Chinese find us."

He sighed. "Okay, I can't force the guy. Commander, it's time we got moving. Are you okay to walk?"

"I'd crawl on all fours to get off this mountain. Guy, share out any supplies we can find, and we'll start moving away from this site. Campbell, you and Cho get the nuns moving. Domenico, we'll keep the civilians in the center, half the men at the front, half at the rear. Let's move, people, before the enemy arrives."

"Boss."

He looked around. Jesse Whitefeather was climbing down from a rocky outcrop where he'd been watching the sky.