Page 63 of Gryphon

“A bunch of little shit still unaccounted for, but the big stuff tallies up fine. Other than that pair of Stingers, watch out for a pair of MK 22 ASRs in 7.62 config. Just inventoried those. Walked real recently. Still a long way to go on handhelds.” Meaning rifles, handguns, grenade launchers, grenades… Not good. Very not good.

Which told her how much the US had stockpiled here in case of a surprise attack on NATO; they’d have had a large team at it for hours already. “So, no jets missing. That’s something.”

The Delta froze for a moment, then glanced toward the distant flight line. “Uh, not my squad. I’ll make sure someone checks.”

Delta Force at its core was an Army unit. Meaning it suffered from Army-first thinking.

“Any Navy gear here as well?”

He nodded tentatively.

And she’d thought the winter was already cold.

Holly decided against wasting time worrying about missing jets or boats or whatever was supposed to be here. The fact that two ASRs had gone walkabout real recently was more than enough concern—the newest US Special Operations Command issue 7.62 mm Advanced Sniper Rifle. Under a mile, not much beat it, and definitely not at that light a caliber. She still preferred the extra half kilometer and big punch of a TAC-50 rifle heaving five times the mass downrange.

Were the ASRs long gone to some African war zone? In Sweden? Or waiting for her in Georgia?

No way to tell. And a weapon that could reach out and touch her from twelve hundred meters away wasn’t something worth worrying about, much, because she’d never see it coming. She shrugged it off as well as possible and dug out an NTSB card.

“You hear about anything else gone astray, I’d like a head’s up.” No need to explain she was headed into the fray and needed to know what she faced.

He didn’t take the card. Probably already had it. If not, someone back at their dedicated intelligence agency in Fort Belvoir, Virginia, would. Or there was no way he’d tell her. No longer in the service, girl. Nastier taste than a pint of two-buck Hammer ‘N’ Tongs draught.

“Right. Get my ass back on the plane. Get gone.”

He twisted his rifle a few millimeters somewhere between a nod of acknowledgement and a perhaps teasing offer to shoot her if she stayed, then went back to scanning the area.

She offered him a single Ha that earned her a flicker of a smile. Okay, three-quarters teasing. She turned toward the plane.

On a night like this, there was no real worry about those ASRs. They weren’t going to see anything out past a few hundred meters and the Delta’s night vision could see that far.

She crawled back onto the plane and hoped that Mike could get them the hell out of here before the weather closed the place completely.

48

“Haven’t been here in a good while.” Tad leaned forward to peer out the windscreen.

Mike almost bobbled the landing at Tbilisi International. “You what?”

The wheels banged down, but at least he didn’t bounce the jet back into the air. He felt Holly glaring at his back for not being as good as Miranda.

“Sorry, buddy, shoulda waited till you were down.” Tad kept looking about, not that there was anything to see at eleven at night except for the airport lights.

Mike decided against chewing out a Marine Corps aviator about sterile cockpit rules—no conversation not related to the flying moment was forbidden. He’d know that far better than Mike would.

“You’ve been here.”

“Sure. Back when I was a baby Marine. We did a co-op training. In fact, this is where I got booted from mechanic to front seat. Got caught out showing my Georgian mechanic brothers what an American bird could do. Some damn two-bar,” he stroked his shirt collar with two fingers denoting a captain’s rank, “spotted me doing my dance and shoved me into the cockpit full-time. The GAF—Georgian Air Force—were trying to upgrade their fleet, mostly rusted-out Russian crap and their equally rusty tactics. Turn here,” Tad pointed at a taxiway to the right.

Mike swung the plane to the right as he cleaned up the flaps and thrust attenuators.

Somehow Tad could both talk and keep up with the radio. Even after all of his years of flying, Mike still had to concentrate to understand aviation radio calls.

“Do you still know people to talk to here?”

“Sure, about what?”

Mike almost missed the next turn as he stared at Tad. “About what? Where the hell have you been?”

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