Hostile Fire by Keith Douglass Read Free Book Online Page B

changed plans and promptly sacked out on the front seat.
    The bus dropped off the sixteen SEALs in full battle gear at 0815 on the short runway next to a sleek Gulfstream II that the navy called the VC-11. It is the same as the civilian model with the exception of the added military communications gear and some interior layout changes. The craft is usually used for flying military top brass and VIPs around when they needed to move in a rush. It carries a crew of two and has seats for nineteen passengers.
    The VC-11 has a broad, tall vertical tail with a full-height rudder, swept horizontal stabilizers on top of the vertical “T.” It uses insert elevators. Flight controls, flaps, spoilers, landing gear, and brakes are all operated by two independent hydraulic systems. Two Rolls-Royce turbofan engines power the craft.
    It’s seventy-nine feet long, twenty-four feet high, and has a long-range maximum cruising speed of 581 miles an hour. At cruising it can jump over 3,712 miles without refueling and has a ceiling of 43,000 feet.
    The SEALs settled into the deluxe first-class, passenger-style seats, stowing their ammo sacks, combat vests, and weapons wherever they found enough room.
    A male second-class petty officer came in from the front cabin and talked to Murdock. Then the CO of the platoon bellowed out an order. “Listen up,” he said. The chatter stopped and the second class waved.
    “Morning. I’m Tanner. You have any questions, ask me. We’ll be taking off promptly at oh-eight-thirty. Commander Johnson is our pilot. She is one of the best. Our flight time to the Washington National Airport will be four point seven two hours, depending on the jet stream. The jet goes from west to east, so it could boost our speed by a hundred miles an hour. We’ve taken meals on board. As soon as we take off and gain altitude, I’ll be bring you box breakfasts. Just after twelve hundred, you’ll get a lunch prepared by the North Island NAS Officers’ Mess. Any questions?”
    “Yeah, who has the beer concession?” Jaybird cracked.
    “That would be Commander Janice Johnson. However, she’s a little busy right now getting ready for take off. Any other questions?”
    “Yeah, why are we landing at Washington National instead of Andrews Air Force Base?” Canzoneri asked.
    “I don’t know. I have no need to know, and that matter may be classified. Let’s have a good trip.” The crew chief vanished back into the forward cabin.
    Murdock looked at J.G. Gardner. “So why are we landing in downtown Washington?”
    “Got me. I know that airport is a lot closer to Langley than Andrews, which is maybe fifteen miles east of DC in Maryland.”
    The box breakfasts were routine, but the noon meal was great, served on china with silverware.
    They landed early, barely four hours into the flight. The plane taxied to the end of the runway and took a narrow concrete strip to a building painted dull green, with two closed vans and three airport police cars in front of it. A light colonel came out of the closest van and marched over to where the crew had just let down the steps on the VC-11. Murdock met him at the steps.
    “Commander Murdock?”
    “Yes, sir,” Murdock said, saluting.
    “Anderson here, I’ll be your official guide. Have your men bring all of their equipment, weapons, vests, everything. We’re a little early, which will make the chief happy. Remember to set your watches. It’s three hours later here than on the coast.”
    They loaded into the vans and drove. The closed vans were the twelve-passenger type but had no windows other than the windshield and those in the front doors.
    “This feels like a goddamned tomb,” Hospital Corpsman First Class Jack Mahanani said.
    “You’ve done this before?” Gardner asked. The squads were each in a separate van.
    “Once or twice I can remember,” Fernandez said. “This must be a high-level operation to pull us in here rather than jet us right to the hot spot.”
    “We gonna