Dale Brown - Dale Brown's Dreamland 03 - Razor's Edge(and Jim DeFelice)(2002) by Dale Brown

Author:Dale Brown [Brown, Dale]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Aboard Dreamland Osprey, over Iraq

1700

THE NOSE OF THE OSPREY BUCKED UPWARD AND THE WHAP of the rotors went down an octave as it cleared a rift in the hills. The pilot had just kicked up the throttle, nearly tripling its speed, but to Danny Freah the sudden change in momentum made it feel as if it had slowed down. Powder and Liu clutched their rifles. Danny realized how much he missed the smart helmet—no map, no real-time view of the battlefield. But much more important, he’d jumped aboard with only his personal handguns—a service Beretta in his holster, and a small hideaway Heckler & Koch P7 M13 strapped to his right ankle. That meant no MP-5 with its target scope slaved to his helmet; he didn’t even have his HK Mark 23 SOCOM with its laser pointer and thick silencer.

There was something to be said for the good old-fashioned feel of the Beretta in his palm. He took it from his holster as the MV-22 skittered forward, and peered through the window on his right at a narrow furrow of gray and black smoke.

“Flighthawk!” Liu yelled to him over the whine of the GE turboshafts.

Danny saw it too—a small white wedge twisted through the air about fifty yards away, red bursting from its chin as if it were on fire. It figured that Zen and the others would be in the middle of this.

Standard combat air rescue doctrine called for rescue aircraft to remain at forward bases until definitive contact was made with a downed airman. Occasionally, those procedures were relaxed to deal with difficult situations—on several attempted rescues during the Gulf War helicopters had actually waited inside Iraq during searches. But they were really freelancing here—according to what the copilot said, Quicksilver had heard the pilot but not seen him. They were listening to Iraqi units search, and had been fired upon.

Definitely could be a trap.

“Downed airman is near the road, near a truck they’re smoking!” yelled the copilot. “We got a spot to land right next to it. We’re going for it.”

“They talk to him?” shouted Danny.

“Negative, sir. They’re sure, though. Hang on!”

“Okay, ladies!” yelled the Marine sergeant, moving toward the door. In the next moment, the Osprey pitched sharply, pirouetting around and descending in nearly the same motion, dropping so quickly that for a half second Danny thought they’d been hit. Then there was a loud clunk and he knew they’d been hit. But they were on the ground, it was time to go, go—he fought back a sliver of bile and lurched toward the door behind his men as the door kicked down.

The Osprey settled harshly onto the uneven surface of the scratch road. Danny was the fifth man out. An acrid smell stung his nose; the Flighthawk had smoked a pickup truck, which was burning nearby.

“Yo, Marines—my guys on point! Whiplash on fucking point!” yelled Danny. It wasn’t a pride thing—it made much more sense to have the people with the body armor in the lead.

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