Night Is Mine Read Online Free
Author: M. L. Buchman
little benches. At thirty meters up, the tiny helicopters checked their mad dash. She couldn’t see them at this distance, but the D-boys would wrap one hand around the fast rope and slide down only feet apart. Five seconds to place everyone on the ground and drop the ropes. On cue, the Little Birds’ two-man crews turned to run for the FARP and wait.
Once the Little Birds were gone, she and Henderson slid in perfect unison over the ridge on their side of the valley. Let the cave dwellers think the fight had moved on. Archie, her copilot, killed a couple rocks with rounds from the 30 mm cannon just to sound busy.
At two hours and twenty minutes, they ran the back side of the ridge. They took a few miscellaneous rounds shot by baddies stupid enough to underestimate a DAP Hawk. The sound of each passing bullet was instantly computer analyzed and revealed the shooter’s position on the tactical displays. Big John and Tim took turns pouring a couple hundred rounds from the miniguns right back down their throats. Second volleys from the ground rarely happened.
At two hours and thirty minutes, she and Henderson roared back over the ridge with the hammer down. At 180 knots, more than 200 miles an hour, they crossed the valley in ninety seconds flat and probably weren’t audible until the last fifteen. By nursing her attitude to maximize the inflow for the turbines at this altitude, she managed to arrive three full seconds ahead of Henderson. She kept her smile to herself but felt pretty damn good about that.
Emily scanned back and forth. Archie would worry about the condition of the Hawk, she kept her focus on the collection of choppers suddenly cluttering the sky.
They started taking some heavy rifle fire from down in the valley, and Henderson peeled off to deal with it. Per plan, she stayed high and back to protect Clay’s birds and the three Little Birds who had returned from Bronson’s refueling layover.
All went according to plan until they started loading. Twelve D-boys came out of the cave exactly on schedule, but now twenty-six people streamed from the cave mouth onto the narrow ledge that formed the only possible pickup point. Two D-boys and seven baddies, the practical limit at this altitude, piled into each of Clay’s transport Hawks as they hovered a foot from the ledge. They also loaded some hefty cases and an armful of laptops.
The Little Birds dodged in and grabbed seven of the eight remaining D-boys while a cloud of fire rained down from above. Their jobs now were to be safe and far away. Two D-boys were hit but continued to return fire upward from their bench-seat perches as the Little Birds scampered along with Clay’s flight.
One more Delta operator knelt in the cave mouth, busy at something. The walls were so steep that he was being shot at from almost directly above and the Hawk had no way to bring weapons to bear. She could climb up and take them head on, but there was still the one D-boy marooned and no one left to fetch him before someone else found a good angle on him.
A loud “krump” and a massive updraft shook her bird. Henderson must have found the shooters directly below and dropped a couple Hellfire missiles in their laps to make that kind of shock wave. The gunfire from below evaporated.
She kept her eye on the D-boy as she slid forward into the narrow defile. He still knelt, safe from above just inside the mouth of the cave. The spatter of small-arms fire sounded from behind her. Her gunners had switched to their new handheld FN SCAR machine guns and were leaning out the doors to shoot upslope. Not the best, but it was all she could give them.
The rain of bullets from above meant that the D-boy would never survive a trip to the pickup ledge. Time to find another solution.
“Kick a rope.”
Archie spared her a glance as Big John kicked a thirty-meter-long fast rope out the door. Anchored on a short door boom, the two-inch-thick woven rope dangled for a hundred feet below the
Once the Little Birds were gone, she and Henderson slid in perfect unison over the ridge on their side of the valley. Let the cave dwellers think the fight had moved on. Archie, her copilot, killed a couple rocks with rounds from the 30 mm cannon just to sound busy.
At two hours and twenty minutes, they ran the back side of the ridge. They took a few miscellaneous rounds shot by baddies stupid enough to underestimate a DAP Hawk. The sound of each passing bullet was instantly computer analyzed and revealed the shooter’s position on the tactical displays. Big John and Tim took turns pouring a couple hundred rounds from the miniguns right back down their throats. Second volleys from the ground rarely happened.
At two hours and thirty minutes, she and Henderson roared back over the ridge with the hammer down. At 180 knots, more than 200 miles an hour, they crossed the valley in ninety seconds flat and probably weren’t audible until the last fifteen. By nursing her attitude to maximize the inflow for the turbines at this altitude, she managed to arrive three full seconds ahead of Henderson. She kept her smile to herself but felt pretty damn good about that.
Emily scanned back and forth. Archie would worry about the condition of the Hawk, she kept her focus on the collection of choppers suddenly cluttering the sky.
They started taking some heavy rifle fire from down in the valley, and Henderson peeled off to deal with it. Per plan, she stayed high and back to protect Clay’s birds and the three Little Birds who had returned from Bronson’s refueling layover.
All went according to plan until they started loading. Twelve D-boys came out of the cave exactly on schedule, but now twenty-six people streamed from the cave mouth onto the narrow ledge that formed the only possible pickup point. Two D-boys and seven baddies, the practical limit at this altitude, piled into each of Clay’s transport Hawks as they hovered a foot from the ledge. They also loaded some hefty cases and an armful of laptops.
The Little Birds dodged in and grabbed seven of the eight remaining D-boys while a cloud of fire rained down from above. Their jobs now were to be safe and far away. Two D-boys were hit but continued to return fire upward from their bench-seat perches as the Little Birds scampered along with Clay’s flight.
One more Delta operator knelt in the cave mouth, busy at something. The walls were so steep that he was being shot at from almost directly above and the Hawk had no way to bring weapons to bear. She could climb up and take them head on, but there was still the one D-boy marooned and no one left to fetch him before someone else found a good angle on him.
A loud “krump” and a massive updraft shook her bird. Henderson must have found the shooters directly below and dropped a couple Hellfire missiles in their laps to make that kind of shock wave. The gunfire from below evaporated.
She kept her eye on the D-boy as she slid forward into the narrow defile. He still knelt, safe from above just inside the mouth of the cave. The spatter of small-arms fire sounded from behind her. Her gunners had switched to their new handheld FN SCAR machine guns and were leaning out the doors to shoot upslope. Not the best, but it was all she could give them.
The rain of bullets from above meant that the D-boy would never survive a trip to the pickup ledge. Time to find another solution.
“Kick a rope.”
Archie spared her a glance as Big John kicked a thirty-meter-long fast rope out the door. Anchored on a short door boom, the two-inch-thick woven rope dangled for a hundred feet below the
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