Chopper Ops by Mack Maloney Page A
Authors: Mack Maloney
Tags: Fiction, Action & Adventure
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was getting worse now, and the wind was positively screaming.
Rooney climbed out of the jeep, soggy cigar still stuck between his teeth. He was a powerful if paunchy individual, with an Ernest Hemingway look to him. A team of air techs was waiting a little further inside the hangar, wondering why they'd been called out to duty so late and in such weather.
Rooney walked over to Smitz, huddled just inside the door of the aircraft barn.
"You got to get yourself some foul-weather gear, Smitty," he told him. "Things can get mighty strange out here in the straits."
"You're telling me," Smitz replied.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth when his cell phone rang. It was the tower. Four planes were on their way in.
"I suppose they didn't tell you exactly what we're getting," Rooney asked as he tried to relight his cigar in the pouring rain.
Smitz resisted the temptation to ask him for a puff.
"They weren't specific," Smitz replied. "But I've got a pretty good guess."
"Yeah," Rooney said. "Me too."
Their words were drowned out by the sound of the first airplane approaching. The high-pitched whine meant only one thing. This was a huge C-5 Galaxy cargo jet coming in.
The monstrous plane appeared out of the mist a moment later. It slammed down with a great screech of tires and smoke, and roared by them with oceans of spray flying in every direction.
"Damn!" Smitz exclaimed.
"Not the kind of plane you'd expect to land in a hurricane," Rooney said.
Right on its tail came a second Galaxy. Behind it, a third, then a fourth. The four airplanes touched down as if they'd been choreographed. By the time the last plane had landed, the first C-5 had reached the end of the long runway and had taxied back around towards the hangar. It pulled to a stop in front of Smitz and Rooney, its nose opening like a gigantic set of jaws.
The insides were packed so tightly, it was hard to see exactly what the flying beast was carrying. But the aircrew hopped to it, and soon two dark canvas-covered forms were being pushed out of the gaping maw and into the hangar.
"Damn, look at that," Rooney said, somehow puffing his water-soaked cigar. "It's like a whale giving birth through its mouth!"
"But what the hell are these things?" Smitz asked.
Rooney finally threw the cigar away and lit up another.
"Let's find out," he said.
As soon as the first bundle was inside the hangar, Smitz had a word with the first C-5's loadmaster. Smitz signed a slew of documents, and then asked that the C-5's crew remove the canvas covering one of the objects. This took a few minutes, but when they were done, Smitz just stared at what had been revealed.
That was when his boss's last words came back to him.
Try to stay out of the helicopters , Jacobs had said.
Finally Smitz knew what the old man had meant.
Chapter 12
0500 hours
Jazz Norton didn't dream very much.
He didn't know why exactly. A flight surgeon once told him that as someone who dodged flak and SAMs for a living, and who, when not in combat, flew dangerously at air shows, Norton lived a much too exciting a life to dream. After going twice the speed of sound miles above the earth on a daily basis, his subconscious needed a rest too. Besides, the doctor had asked him, what would a person like him dream about?
But this night, Norton was sure he was dreaming when he saw a ghost looking down at him from the foot of his bed.
The figure was dressed all in white. Its skin was wet and runny. With a bright light coming from behind, it looked almost transparent. A crash of thunder and a flash of lightning only added credibility to the apparition.
Norton sat up with a start, his fists clenched, ready to punch the ghost.
That was when Smitz pulled back the hood of his rain slicker to reveal his soaking-wet head.
"Sorry to bother you like this, Major," the young CIA man was saying. "But we need you over in Hangar 2 right away."
*****
The storm was growing worse. Lightning flashes were
Rooney climbed out of the jeep, soggy cigar still stuck between his teeth. He was a powerful if paunchy individual, with an Ernest Hemingway look to him. A team of air techs was waiting a little further inside the hangar, wondering why they'd been called out to duty so late and in such weather.
Rooney walked over to Smitz, huddled just inside the door of the aircraft barn.
"You got to get yourself some foul-weather gear, Smitty," he told him. "Things can get mighty strange out here in the straits."
"You're telling me," Smitz replied.
No sooner were the words out of his mouth when his cell phone rang. It was the tower. Four planes were on their way in.
"I suppose they didn't tell you exactly what we're getting," Rooney asked as he tried to relight his cigar in the pouring rain.
Smitz resisted the temptation to ask him for a puff.
"They weren't specific," Smitz replied. "But I've got a pretty good guess."
"Yeah," Rooney said. "Me too."
Their words were drowned out by the sound of the first airplane approaching. The high-pitched whine meant only one thing. This was a huge C-5 Galaxy cargo jet coming in.
The monstrous plane appeared out of the mist a moment later. It slammed down with a great screech of tires and smoke, and roared by them with oceans of spray flying in every direction.
"Damn!" Smitz exclaimed.
"Not the kind of plane you'd expect to land in a hurricane," Rooney said.
Right on its tail came a second Galaxy. Behind it, a third, then a fourth. The four airplanes touched down as if they'd been choreographed. By the time the last plane had landed, the first C-5 had reached the end of the long runway and had taxied back around towards the hangar. It pulled to a stop in front of Smitz and Rooney, its nose opening like a gigantic set of jaws.
The insides were packed so tightly, it was hard to see exactly what the flying beast was carrying. But the aircrew hopped to it, and soon two dark canvas-covered forms were being pushed out of the gaping maw and into the hangar.
"Damn, look at that," Rooney said, somehow puffing his water-soaked cigar. "It's like a whale giving birth through its mouth!"
"But what the hell are these things?" Smitz asked.
Rooney finally threw the cigar away and lit up another.
"Let's find out," he said.
As soon as the first bundle was inside the hangar, Smitz had a word with the first C-5's loadmaster. Smitz signed a slew of documents, and then asked that the C-5's crew remove the canvas covering one of the objects. This took a few minutes, but when they were done, Smitz just stared at what had been revealed.
That was when his boss's last words came back to him.
Try to stay out of the helicopters , Jacobs had said.
Finally Smitz knew what the old man had meant.
Chapter 12
0500 hours
Jazz Norton didn't dream very much.
He didn't know why exactly. A flight surgeon once told him that as someone who dodged flak and SAMs for a living, and who, when not in combat, flew dangerously at air shows, Norton lived a much too exciting a life to dream. After going twice the speed of sound miles above the earth on a daily basis, his subconscious needed a rest too. Besides, the doctor had asked him, what would a person like him dream about?
But this night, Norton was sure he was dreaming when he saw a ghost looking down at him from the foot of his bed.
The figure was dressed all in white. Its skin was wet and runny. With a bright light coming from behind, it looked almost transparent. A crash of thunder and a flash of lightning only added credibility to the apparition.
Norton sat up with a start, his fists clenched, ready to punch the ghost.
That was when Smitz pulled back the hood of his rain slicker to reveal his soaking-wet head.
"Sorry to bother you like this, Major," the young CIA man was saying. "But we need you over in Hangar 2 right away."
*****
The storm was growing worse. Lightning flashes were
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