Page 9 of Mending Fences

“Go traveling in my head? Maybe. Never thought about it that way but…maybe. Or it could be that’s where I got the traveling bug. Half my leave is to go see my folks, but the other half is to travel somewhere I’ve never been before.”

He focused back on their wandering course over the Gulf of Aden—so empty without the constant line of ships headed for Suez. His path had been far more linear. His college freshman roommate, who’d become his best friend over four years of rooming together, had come from a long line of Navy service. They’d signed up the day after graduation. Mickey now disappeared for six months at a time as an engineer on boomer submarines. He was also on his third wife and hundredth girlfriend.

Tom had stumbled into helos, working his way up to, ironically, being a sub-hunter for the big carriers. Because nothing and no one on a carrier served merely one purpose, he also flew resupply, SAR operations, and anything else the Navy needed. But his specialty had been sub-hunting. He’d even caught Mickey’s boomer during a major exercise, much to the Navy’s chagrin. His reassignment to the Peleliu had come through so soon afterward that he’d assumed that the Navy was punishing him for proving a weakness of their stealthiest boats. A boomer was called that because it carried a nuclear arsenal that potentially made very loud booms, not because the sub itself made much noise at all.

Punishment or not, tonight made a welcome adventure. He looked over at Fin, a very welcome one.

He’d never flown a mission like this one. A whole new world had opened up before him. What if the Peleliu posting had been a sign of Command’s commendation rather that condemnation?

And the next thought came easily. What if running into Fin wasn’t chance but opportunity? Perhaps in multiple ways.

What if?—

“Grab your shorts!” Fin called out.

At least this time he was ready when she sliced back toward the coast.

7

Get outta my head, Fence. This was no time for stray thoughts, no matter how enjoyable. Now came the trickiest part of tonight’s operation—exfiltration.

Night Stalkers promised to be anywhere within thirty seconds of schedule. It didn’t matter what was happening, Special Operations Forces expected them to be in a precise place at a precise time and the Night Stalkers never let them down. Well, almost never.

There were losses that couldn’t be compensated for, like the shooting down of two Chinook helicopters during the Battle of Takur Ghar. But those first two losses hadn’t stopped them flying two more into the battle right away. And they might have lost three birds during the Battle of Mogadishu—two in hostile territory—hopelessly entangling planned exfiltrations. Yet they’d flown near enough a hundred sorties through the night in support of the embattled troops.

If they missed tonight’s scheduled pickup, it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

They were three minutes and fifteen kilometers from the turn and five more kilometers from the beach when Kara came onto the command frequency. “Vector one-seven-five.”

Fin didn’t bother acknowledging. She slammed through the sixty-degree turn, knowing Kara would see that she’d received the message.

She could hear Fence’s silent question. He knew not to distract her by asking it aloud but he needed to know what they were headed into.

“Yes, on this heading, we’re eight kilometers to landing inside the Chinese base. Let’s hope we’re headed somewhere a little closer. Where are the other birds?” She didn’t have time to look.

“Little Birds returned from the Peleliu per scheduled refueling. They’re presently ten kilometers out and circling at ten thousand—places them two minutes-twenty out if we need help. The DAP gunship is thirty seconds aft of us, practicing their surfing by the look of it.”

Fin couldn’t help smiling. She’d always thought of it as water skiing when she flew so low, but surfing worked too—not that she’d ever done either. Fence certainly had the build and athleticism to have done both.

“Line-of-sight visible to the Chinese base in one minute. Good thing we’re invisible.”

Fin certainly hoped so. There hadn’t been a chance for her to study how effective her stealth really was. Did her sixty-foot Hawk look like a Little Bird helo, or did she have the radar signature of a chickadee? She didn’t know, and that was only radar visible. Yes, she was in a pitch-black helicopter on a moonless light, but she wasn’t invisible. She was?—

A flash of green light swept by—aimed high.

“Full visor blackout!” She shouted out. The laser strike had been aimed high, toward the distant Little Birds, but it could be redirected at them in milliseconds. It didn’t look like a mere dazzler strike, it was a high-power blast. She hoped they were okay.

An instant later the sky lit up over the Chinese base—the kind of actinic brilliant light she’d only ever seen when a major power switchyard shorted out. It lit half the sky for twenty seconds in flickering arcs of purest white light—then blinked out into utter darkness all at once. Not even the glow of the base shone beyond the horizon.

“What the hell?”

“No jumping the fence yet, Fence. Questions later. Action now.”

“Roger.”

Two kilometers from the beach, Kara gave them a final vector to the D-boys. They were on an inflatable…calling it a boat would be an exaggeration. It was like one of those oversized swimming pool rafts with one end folded up into a prow. The six operators lay mostly atop one another. A swimmer’s underwater electric scooter tied to the bow towed it through the waves.

She slewed sideways and the crew chiefs opened one of the cargo doors. Settling her lower hull down into the ocean so that the cargo deck was just awash, she tipped the helo toward them until the blade tips swung a mere meter over their heads. That sent her sideways with the door threshold underwater. As she scooped them up, they powered themselves straight aboard: raft and all. Again, not really stopping, they were headed back out to sea within seconds of meeting up, water spilling out the helo’s cargo bay door.

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