The Persona Protocol

33


Cut Off


Sevnik was in the gunner’s seat, finger on the cannon’s trigger as he surveyed the scene below on the hooded gunsight screen. It had been many years since he had flown in actual combat, attacking rebels in the Second Chechen War, but he had not forgotten how to fight.

‘Come right three degrees,’ he told the pilot in the seat behind him. Unlike earlier models of the Mi-24, which had a rotating turret, the 30mm autocannons on this machine’s nose were fixed and required the entire aircraft to be lined up on its target. The chopper banked gently. ‘Hold.’ He switched the gunsight’s mode to infrared, the cold landscape becoming a dark grey with hot white spots revealing the Americans al-Rais had warned him about.

Two of the spots were at the shore end of the jetty. The line showing where the cannon shells would impact ran right over them. ‘Move in.’

Small flashes of light on the IR display. The Americans were shooting at him! An act of pure desperation: even if they scored a hit, the gunship’s armour was impervious to anything smaller than a .50-calibre round.

His finger tightened on the trigger, ready to fire . . .

Something flicked through his peripheral vision – not on the screen, but outside the cockpit canopy. The pilot reacted in surprise. ‘What—’

The helicopter shuddered as something hit the engine intakes above the cockpit and exploded.

‘What the hell?’ shouted Baxter as fire and smoke burst from the Hind’s upper fuselage. Debris dropped into the water. The gunship banked sharply, turning away from the pier and crossing the shoreline to drop behind the trees to the south. ‘We didn’t hit it that hard!’

Tony knew what had happened. ‘Kyle! Was that you?’

No answer. Kyle had used the UAV’s self-destruct to make a kamikaze attack on the helicopter – but with the drone destroyed, they had also lost its communications relay. Their headsets, and Adam’s earwig, only had limited range and power. Transmissions to the op centre aboard the plane were now blocked by the hills.

‘Sounds like it’s landing,’ said Baxter. The rumbling slap of the Hind’s rotors changed in pitch as it moved into a hover. ‘We’re gonna be outnumbered any minute!’

‘Adam!’ shouted Tony as two scurrying figures approached. ‘Can you fly the plane?’

Adam jumped down into the cover of the jetty, Bianca following. ‘Touch and go,’ he said.

‘What does that mean?’ Baxter demanded.

‘It means we’ll either go, or we’ll touch something – very hard.’

‘Make it the first one,’ said Tony. He glanced at the Beriev. ‘How long will it take to get that thing moving?’

‘I can do an emergency start-up quickly enough – it’s getting it into the air that’ll be tricky.’

‘Get aboard,’ Tony ordered. He called out to the others. ‘Everyone give Adam cover!’

‘Bring Qasid,’ Adam told him.

‘It’s too risky,’ Baxter objected. ‘If we waste time moving a prisoner while under fire, it’ll get someone killed!’

Tony was silent for a moment, then nodded to Adam. ‘We take him with us,’ he announced. Baxter was about to protest, but he cut him off. ‘No arguments – get him on that plane.’

Adam gave Tony a nod of thanks, then rose. The Hind had landed somewhere on the other side of the woods. The Russian soldiers would be here in a few minutes – but al-Rais was already somewhere much closer. Even without the terrorist leader’s persona, Adam knew he would try to stop the Americans from leaving with the RTG.

No sign of him, though. ‘Okay, I’m ready.’

‘Good luck,’ said Tony.

Adam jumped up on to the jetty – and ran.

Despite some of the covering snow and ice being cleared by the men carrying the RTG, the surface was still slippery. The tip of the Beriev’s starboard wing reached halfway back along the hundred-foot pier. He passed it, skirting a dead terrorist. If al-Rais were going to take a shot, it would be now—

A sharp crack of gunfire – but he had already ducked. The bullet snapped over him and punched a hole in the Beriev’s fuselage.

More shots, these from a G36 as a teammate opened fire on the terrorist leader’s position. Boots skidding over the old planks, Adam threw himself through the open hatch into the Be-200’s cabin. He rolled into cover – and hit something hard and heavy.

The RTG. The nuclear battery squatted inside its protective frame, secured to the deck by thick straps. The core’s green paint was cracked and flaking, exposing the metal of the casing.

The shooting stopped. He glanced through the hatch. Tony and the others still had guns at the ready. They hadn’t hit al-Rais. Beyond the trees, he heard the throb of the Hind’s engines at idle. The pilot probably had no idea what had hit his aircraft, and was unwilling to risk the Americans having more of them.

But Adam knew that as soon as the Beriev started up, Sevnik would not allow the gunship to remain grounded.

He hurried into the cockpit. A moment of terrified shock as he saw the dead pilot still slumped in his seat, the Barrett round having blown half his head away. But he suppressed the young co-pilot’s horror at the sight of his dead instructor and friend and dropped into the empty second seat. The Beriev was a modern aircraft with a relatively high degree of computerisation; he engaged the auxiliary power unit to activate the main systems, then began the procedure for an emergency start-up.

Holly Jo ran back into the Global 6000’s cabin from the cockpit. ‘Better strap in!’ she warned Kyle as she sat and buckled her own seat belt tightly.

‘I can’t believe we’re doing this,’ Kyle said as he followed suit. The lights flickered, then the airframe trembled as the engines rose in power. There was a whine as the thrust reversers opened. The plane began to move – backwards, trundling towards Provideniya’s main runway.

Holly Jo put her headset back on. ‘Oh, they are not happy about this,’ she said as she heard the control tower’s demands to know what was going on.

‘They want us to stop and power down,’ said the pilot. ‘What do we do?’

‘We’ve got our orders – take off and get to US airspace,’ she replied, looking through a porthole. A couple of Russian officials were running across the snow-covered concrete after the retreating jet. ‘Uh-oh.’

The plane swung sharply through ninety degrees to face down the runway. Kyle peered through the window. ‘What’re they gonna do, try to shoot out the— Oh shit. Oh shit! They’ve got guns – they are going to shoot out the tyres!’ He reactivated his own headset. ‘Dude, get us out of here!’

‘Miss Voss, can you keep your people’s chatter down, please?’ the pilot replied testily. The thrust reversers retracted, the jet lurching to a stop.

‘What?’ snapped Kyle. ‘No, wait – I’m not her people! She doesn’t give me orders!’

‘You are such a gynophobe, Kyle,’ Holly Jo said, clutching her armrests as the engines shrieked to full power.

‘No, I’m not, whatever that is – oh Jesus!’ The Russians were taking aim. ‘Go, go go go!’

The pilot released the wheelbrakes. Holly Jo and Kyle were shoved back in their seats as the jet surged forward. One of the Russians gawped at the Global 6000 as it raced past.

The younger of the pair opened fire—

He was aiming at the wheels rather than the fuselage. His bullets hit nothing but concrete and snow. The plane left the officers behind in moments and took to the sky, climbing steeply and banking to head south-east.

Holly Jo was still monitoring the radio traffic. ‘They’re warning the Russian air force about us,’ she said, alarmed.

Now that they were airborne, Kyle had relaxed. ‘Pfft. What’re they gonna do?’ he asked dismissively. ‘They can’t even afford to keep up a proper interceptor screen. Besides, we’ll have an F-22 escort as soon as we’re out of Russian airspace. Nothing’ll be able to touch us.’

‘Maybe,’ said Holly Jo, less convinced. ‘But we’ve got to get out of Russian airspace first . . .’

A rising shrill announced to those on the shore that Adam had started the Beriev’s engines. Baxter waved to his men. ‘Let’s go, let’s go! Bring the prisoner!’

Spence hauled Qasid upright and pushed him along the cutting. The two other soldiers quickly caught up.

Tony kept a close watch on the buildings. Al-Rais had fired from behind the largest one, its wooden wall now ravaged by G36 bullets – but he was certain the Saudi had escaped unharmed.

Al-Rais was no longer the only threat, however. Sevnik’s soldiers were somewhere in the woods – and getting closer. ‘Okay, John,’ said Tony, ‘get Bianca to the plane. I’ll cover you.’

‘You should take her,’ Baxter said.

‘There isn’t time to argue. Go!’

Baxter frowned, but helped Bianca up. ‘Can you carry both those cases?’ he asked.

‘They’re heavy, but – yeah, I can,’ she said, realising that he was effectively offering to take one himself, which would leave him holding his rifle one-handed.

‘Good.’ He turned to cover the cutting’s southern side. ‘Okay, head for the plane as quick as you can. Go!’

She swung the cases on to the jetty, then clambered up. Baxter hopped on to the structure with considerably more grace. Arms straining, she scurried along the pier. The Alabaman moved at a backwards trot behind her.

‘Movement in the woods!’ yelled one of the men on the shore. ‘South-west!’

Tony looked past the derelict buildings, seeing shadowy figures ducking between the snow-laden evergreens about a hundred yards distant. Three, maybe four men – which meant the rest of Sevnik’s squad would be moving in from a different direction. ‘Suppressing fire!’ he ordered. ‘Get to the plane!’

Spence drove Qasid towards the pier as the other two men opened up, firing three-round bursts into the trees. The shots weren’t intended to kill, simply to force the approaching Russians to drop and find protection – preventing them from shooting back. Bark splintered, white powder exploding from the drooping branches. The soldiers scrambled for cover.

Tony checked on Bianca and Baxter. They were halfway along the jetty, Baxter still watching the shore. ‘Tony!’ the ex-Marine shouted, gesturing with his rifle.

More figures in the trees, these emerging from behind the buildings to make a pincer movement along the lagoon’s edge. Baxter fired a burst in their direction. The Russians hurriedly pulled back.

‘Come on, move!’ yelled Tony as Spence and Qasid passed him. The remaining two men backed towards the pier as they unleashed bursts of fire into the woods.

‘Reloading!’ said Levin, ejecting a spent magazine. He crouched behind a pile of mine debris and fumbled for a replacement. Fallon reached the jetty.

‘Levin, hurry up!’ Tony yelled as he climbed on to the wooden structure to start his own retreat. Another look back. Bianca boarded the plane, Baxter pausing to untie the mooring rope. ‘We are leaving!’

Levin finally loaded the new mag. He popped up to fire across the cutting, then raced for the jetty.

One of the Russians in the woods shot back, his Kalashnikov on full auto. Some of the rounds were tracers, lines of green fire streaking like laser beams across the tracks.

Homing in—

A shot ripped through Levin’s left shoulder with a spray of blood.

‘Man down!’ Tony cried, seeing him fall. ‘Cover me!’

He opened up with his SIG at the shooter, who ducked into cover. The men on the jetty also fired, Baxter and Spence aiming at the soldiers behind the buildings while Fallon put down more suppressing fire on Tony’s target. Tony ran to the fallen man. ‘Can you move?’

Levin had dropped his gun, his free hand clamped over the bloody wound. ‘I – I think so.’

Tony hauled him to his feet. ‘Get going – I’ll give you cover. Run!’ He picked up the G36 and backed up, firing into the trees.

Baxter pulled the last loop of the mooring line free. ‘Get that a*shole aboard!’ he shouted to Spence, who forcefully shoved Qasid through the hatch before turning to continue shooting. ‘Tony, come on!’

Tony fired one last burst – then his rifle clicked empty. He dropped it and ran, quickly catching up with Levin and pulling him with him.

Baxter retreated into the plane, the others following suit. Despite their suppressing fire, retaliatory gunshots rattled from the shore. Bullets clunked against the Beriev’s hull. Bianca shrieked, flattening herself on the deck and shielding her head. ‘Get moving, go!’ shouted Tony, waving furiously for the plane to set off.

In the cockpit, Adam saw him and pushed the throttles. The engines rose in power. The float on the seaplane’s starboard wing would have hit the pier if he had simply gone forward, forcing him to engage reverse thrust and back the thirty-ton jet away from it.

Still hauling Levin with him, Tony reached the open hatch just as it slipped from the end of the jetty. Hands dragged them inside.

‘They’re aboard!’ Baxter yelled to Adam, before leaning back out of the door to resume firing. ‘Get us out of here!’

Adam pushed the port engine’s throttle further forward. The extra power on that side drove the aircraft into a slewing turn, its tail swinging towards the shore. Ice crackled under the hull. He looked through the side window. Was the float clear?

A hailstorm rattle of bullets told him that it would have to be. He closed the thrust reversers and pushed both throttles forward. The Beriev’s nose tipped upwards like a surging speedboat before the water’s drag on the aft fuselage slammed it back down in an explosion of spray. Shouts came from the cabin as people were thrown off their feet.

Fear gripped him, the co-pilot’s inexperience fuelling the emotion. I’ve only done this twice before – and Stepan is dead! He worked the controls, extending the wing flaps for maximum lift. With the RTG aboard, the Beriev was heavily laden, its hull low in the water and both wing floats carving deeply into the lagoon’s surface. The nose thumped through the choppy waves as the plane moved out into open water. What do I do? Elevators – use the elevators, set the right pitch angle . . .

Adam made the adjustments, the seaplane’s nose slowly tipping back up. Another wave impact, but this time the Be-200 skipped over it rather than ploughing through. He increased power and looked ahead.

Hills filled his vision. The plane’s turn had left it pointing diagonally across the long lagoon. He needed to head due south to have enough room to take off. I’ve never turned at this speed! We might capsize!

Despite the persona’s warning, he pushed his foot down on the rudder pedal. The Beriev changed course, centrifugal force rolling it heavily on to its left side. Slower, slow down!

But he couldn’t. Off to his right he saw movement above the woods. The Hind had taken off again.

Sevnik was trying to stop their escape.