Contents ( 55)
- In Memoriam
- Epigraph
- Cast of Characters
- Americans
- Russians
- Canadian
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgments
- Weapons and Acronyms
- Weapons
- Acronyms
- About the Author
- Also by Dale Brown
- Copyright
- About the Publisher
Impatiently, he downed the aspirin with a swig of vodka and then recapped the flask. This was no time for illness. Not when he was so close to making sure that he would be the one everyone remembered in the future.
One
Wizard One-One, over Southern Libya
August
Its shadow lost among jagged black peaks and spires of hardened lava, the dark gray U.S. Air Force HH-60W Jolly Green II helicopter flew low across the desolate wastes of southern Libya. Specially designed for service with CSAR (combat search and rescue) squadrons and named in honor of the HH-3E Jolly Green Giant made famous during Vietnam War rescue missions, this was the newest variation of Sikorsky’s versatile UH-60 Black Hawk series. Like its predecessor aircraft, the HH-60G Pave Hawk, the Jolly Green II was equipped with a hoist and retractable midair refueling probe. But upgraded avionics, engines, weapons, armor, and larger fuel tanks dramatically increased its capabilities, including extending its unrefueled range to more than seven hundred miles.
The helicopter’s nose dropped sharply, descending fast as it sped down a bleak slope of black volcanic rock and sand. Along the horizon to the southwest, the terrain shifted dramatically—morphing into a seemingly endless, golden-orange sea of Saharan sand dunes. Heat waves rippled across a landscape baked by the harsh rays of the desert sun high overhead.
Seated behind the HH-60’s cockpit and facing outward, Captain Nicholas Flynn felt his stomach floating as the helicopter raced downslope at more than 160 knots. Through the cabin window in front of him, he caught blurred glimpses of massive boulders zipping past not more than a few feet below. That only increased the sensation of uncontrolled speed. He swallowed hard and crossed his arms over the straps holding him in his seat. “Oh, what fun,” he muttered, realizing too late he was on the intercom.
“What’s the matter, Nick?” the cheerful voice of the pilot, Captain Scott “FX” Dykstra, asked through his headset. “Don’t like flying?”
Through gritted teeth, Flynn shot back, “Flying, I don’t mind. I just prefer my sky with a little less ground in it.”
Dykstra chuckled. “See, there’s where I gotta disagree with you.” The helicopter banked hard left and then right again, as he steered around a massive ledge of basalt jutting out at an angle from the softer soils around it. “Clouds are pretty and all, but high altitude’s a happy hunting ground for hostile interceptors and missiles. Down here just above the dirt is the sweet spot, where any bad guys only get a couple of seconds to react before we scoot on past and out of sight.”
“Oh, I understand the theory,” Flynn said, bracing himself as the HH-60 slewed sharply upward again and then leveled out a hundred feet off the desert floor. “It’s the practice that scares the shit out of me.”
A new voice came on the intercom circuit. This one belonged to Technical Sergeant Carl Zalewski, one of the two PJs, or pararescue jumpers, riding with him in the Jolly Green II cabin. “Please tell me you’re not being literal, sir. Our guys just washed this bird before we took off from El Minya. If we bring it back all dirty, they’re gonna be seriously upset.”