Rogue Forces by Dale Brown

Author:Dale Brown
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-12-04T22:00:00+00:00

“Good to see you’re still with us, Scion,” Wilhelm said from his command console in the Tank. “You’re still yelling into the mic. Get your bell rung out there?”

“Advise you get your Avengers to ensure positive visual ID before engaging, Warhammer.”

“The Turks just bombed the crap out of my runway, Scion, and they’ve got vehicles heading this way. We’ve received reports of three separate columns of armored vehicles. I’m not going to let them just traipse onto this base without taking a few down first.”

“That inbound to the east might not be a Turk.”

“Then who do you think it is?”

“Not on an open channel, Warhammer.”

Wilhelm fell silent for a few moments; then: “Roger, Scion.” He didn’t know who or what McLanahan was thinking of, but the guy was on a roll; better help him keep his streak alive. “Break. All Warhammer units, this is Alpha, be advised, we have no aircraft authorized to approach the base, and we couldn’t land them here if there were, but I want positive visual IDs of all inbound aircraft. Repeat, I want positive EO or direct visual ID. IR and no modes, and codes are not, repeat, not good enough.” He paused for a moment, re-thinking his next order, then continued: “If you don’t have positive ID, report direction, speed, altitude, and type, but let it go. If you are unclear, sing out, but keep weapons tight unless you have positive ID it’s a bandit. Warhammer out.”

It did not take long for the first report to come in: “Warhammer, this is Piney One-Two,” the easternmost Avenger unit called. “I have visual contact on single-ship bogey, one-five-zero degrees bullseye, heading west, one hundred and eighty knots, altitude base minus one-eight, negative modes and codes.” The “base” altitude was two thousand feet, meaning that the aircraft was two hundred feet aboveground. “Looks like a Victor Two-Two.”

“Oh, thank you, Lord,” Wilhelm muttered to himself. How the hell many drinks and dinners am I going to have to owe McLanahan after this is all over…? “Roger, One-Two. Continue patrol, weapons tight. All Warhammer units, this is Alpha, inbound aircraft approaching, weapons tight until it touches down, then back to FPCON Delta. Weatherly, take charge here. I’m headed out to the flight line. Thompson, get your guys out there to recover this inbound, and I want security as tight as a gnat’s bunghole. Air traffic, let this guy in, and make sure there are no tails. Thompson, park him in Alpha security.” He threw off his headset and sprinted for the door.

He found McLanahan and Kris Thompson at the secure aircraft parking area, a section of the aircraft apron surrounded by exhaust blast fences in front of the large hangar. Thompson had deployed his security forces along the south taxiway and the ramp leading from the taxiway to the apron. Wilhelm’s eyes narrowed as he saw McLanahan. The retired general’s head and the backs of his hands were covered in wounds from flying debris. “You should be in the infirmary, General,” he said.

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