superimposing the laser designation reticle onto the ventilator shaft of the bunker below. That was at that moment all he needed to see, all he needed to worry about.
[ * ]
The blast of air let into the helicopter when First Lieutenant Frank Zack, the American ranger company executive officer, slid the door open hit Major Nikolai Ilvanich like a sledgehammer. Ilvanich, lulled into a deep sleep by the Blackhawk helicopter’s vibrations, hadn’t realized that they had reached their target. With the ease of a practiced veteran, Ilvanich, however, was fully awake and taking in everything. Nothing escaped him. He heard every word and saw every action around him. The executive officer across from him was in the door and ready to leap out as soon as the helicopter touched down.
Behind him a nervous sergeant was fumbling with his gear while an excited soldier with fire in his eyes, named Pape, kept nudging him in an effort to get closer to the door. Ilvanich watched the young soldier as his fingers worked the action of his squad automatic weapon while he urged his sergeant to get moving. That young man’s lust for battle, Ilvanich knew, would be tempered as soon as he saw his first wounded man at his feet writhing and screaming.
When the helicopter came around the side of the mountain and began its descent, Ilvanich turned his attention away from Pape and leaned forward to study their target. Outside, framed by the helicopter’s door, lay the landing zone. From where he sat, it looked small, mainly because it was small. To one side was the mountain that contained the nuclear weapons storage site. The landing zone was nothing more than a ledge measuring one hundred by two hundred meters that jutted out from the side of that mountain.
In the glow of the security lights, Ilvanich could see the tunnel entrance, wide open at the moment. The entrance was protected by a small concrete bunker jutting out from the right side of the tunnel entrance overlooking a small maze of movable concrete road barriers set up in such a manner that anyone entering the tunnel had to zigzag through them single file. Across from it stood a cinder block building that provided protection for half a dozen or so guards responsible for patrolling the chainlink fence topped with barbed wire that ran along the entire outer perimeter of the ledge.
There was, as far as he could see, no movement on the ground, no guards visible. The security lights were still on, providing the helicopter pilots ample light with which to land.
More importantly, there was no anti-aircraft fire. The surprise was complete. Barring a serious miscalculation, success was all but guaranteed.
Unsnapping his seat belt, Ilvanich readjusted his gear, pulled the zipper up on his camouflage parka, and pulled the folding stock assault rifle that he had slung over his shoulder around from his side onto his lap, resting his right hand on it. By the time the helicopter’s wheels hit the ground with a thump, Ilvanich was ready.
In a second Blackhawk across from Ilvanich’s, the scene was repeated. Before the Blackhawk’s door gunners could open up with their M-60 machine guns, Captain Vernon Smithy’s command of “ LET’S
GO, RANGERS” cleared the helicopter. In their haste to get out onto the ground and deploy, the rangers with Smithy masked the right door gunner’s field of fire, preventing him from dropping the two Ukrainian guards standing behind the concrete barriers at the mouth of the tunnel that ran into the side of the mountain.
For a moment, the two guards hesitated, each one thinking the same thought: Stand and fight or flee?
The shock of seeing four whitewashed helicopters in a perfect formation drop out of nowhere and disgorge dozens of armed troops less than twenty meters away was overpowering. That they would never be able to stop them was obvious. That there was no escape from this flood of invaders was equally clear. All that remained for the guards to do, in the
[ * ]
The blast of air let into the helicopter when First Lieutenant Frank Zack, the American ranger company executive officer, slid the door open hit Major Nikolai Ilvanich like a sledgehammer. Ilvanich, lulled into a deep sleep by the Blackhawk helicopter’s vibrations, hadn’t realized that they had reached their target. With the ease of a practiced veteran, Ilvanich, however, was fully awake and taking in everything. Nothing escaped him. He heard every word and saw every action around him. The executive officer across from him was in the door and ready to leap out as soon as the helicopter touched down.
Behind him a nervous sergeant was fumbling with his gear while an excited soldier with fire in his eyes, named Pape, kept nudging him in an effort to get closer to the door. Ilvanich watched the young soldier as his fingers worked the action of his squad automatic weapon while he urged his sergeant to get moving. That young man’s lust for battle, Ilvanich knew, would be tempered as soon as he saw his first wounded man at his feet writhing and screaming.
When the helicopter came around the side of the mountain and began its descent, Ilvanich turned his attention away from Pape and leaned forward to study their target. Outside, framed by the helicopter’s door, lay the landing zone. From where he sat, it looked small, mainly because it was small. To one side was the mountain that contained the nuclear weapons storage site. The landing zone was nothing more than a ledge measuring one hundred by two hundred meters that jutted out from the side of that mountain.
In the glow of the security lights, Ilvanich could see the tunnel entrance, wide open at the moment. The entrance was protected by a small concrete bunker jutting out from the right side of the tunnel entrance overlooking a small maze of movable concrete road barriers set up in such a manner that anyone entering the tunnel had to zigzag through them single file. Across from it stood a cinder block building that provided protection for half a dozen or so guards responsible for patrolling the chainlink fence topped with barbed wire that ran along the entire outer perimeter of the ledge.
There was, as far as he could see, no movement on the ground, no guards visible. The security lights were still on, providing the helicopter pilots ample light with which to land.
More importantly, there was no anti-aircraft fire. The surprise was complete. Barring a serious miscalculation, success was all but guaranteed.
Unsnapping his seat belt, Ilvanich readjusted his gear, pulled the zipper up on his camouflage parka, and pulled the folding stock assault rifle that he had slung over his shoulder around from his side onto his lap, resting his right hand on it. By the time the helicopter’s wheels hit the ground with a thump, Ilvanich was ready.
In a second Blackhawk across from Ilvanich’s, the scene was repeated. Before the Blackhawk’s door gunners could open up with their M-60 machine guns, Captain Vernon Smithy’s command of “ LET’S
GO, RANGERS” cleared the helicopter. In their haste to get out onto the ground and deploy, the rangers with Smithy masked the right door gunner’s field of fire, preventing him from dropping the two Ukrainian guards standing behind the concrete barriers at the mouth of the tunnel that ran into the side of the mountain.
For a moment, the two guards hesitated, each one thinking the same thought: Stand and fight or flee?
The shock of seeing four whitewashed helicopters in a perfect formation drop out of nowhere and disgorge dozens of armed troops less than twenty meters away was overpowering. That they would never be able to stop them was obvious. That there was no escape from this flood of invaders was equally clear. All that remained for the guards to do, in the
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