The Night Stalkers White House - Books 1-3

Chapter 16-2

Daniel tried to beg off the repeat flight on the Mil Hound, but somehow Alice talked him into it. He’d been angry when he found out she was in on the joke, but Dr. Thompson proved to be a very difficult person to remain angry at.

Being angry was a skill Daniel had never developed. On purpose. He was often called unflappable and had always been proud that the petty sniping so traditional in D.C. politics didn’t get to him. Not when clerking in the Senate, not when serving as the First Lady’s personal secretary, and not when the Congressional Leadership was fighting him just for the sake of being pigheaded.

Alice managed to make it all her fault, though he knew Major Beale had played a significant role. But Alice was so upset that he’d agreed to make the second flight with minimal protest. He managed to keep his mouth shut and not say that he could think of little he’d like less while still on this side of the Apocalypse.

The Mi-4 Hound sounded completely different. The high whine of the Black Hawk’s turbine engines was replaced by the buzz of the massive radial engine in the nose. The beat of the helo’s blades wasn’t all that different once they were underway. But despite the bigger cargo bay, Daniel felt quite claustrophobic.

On the Black Hawk, he’d been side-by-side with Alice. The open cargo doors had offered a wide view to the Virginian night and he hadn’t felt any fear that he might fall, except for those few heart-stopping seconds of the emergency landing. He could observe the crew chiefs Big John and Crazy Tim sitting right in front of them and by looking up the middle, he’d been able to at least partly watch what the two pilots were doing.

On the Hound, he and Alice were seated across from each other on little fold-down metal seats amidships with only small, round porthole windows to offer any view. John and Tim actually lounged back on a pair of seats that were built into the rear doors that swung outward. With no miniguns and only one gauge on helicopter status, they had nothing to do during the flight. The cockpit was up a ladder and through a small hole, making the pilots almost unobservable.

And the front of his helmet didn’t have an infrared view painted across the visor. It had clear plastic, so all he could see was the inside of the cabin.

The pilots weren’t quiet on this ride.

“Let’s run her an extra twenty feet high until we’re sure of her,” Henderson showing some caution.

His wife gave a running commentary, “Night vision has a lousy field of view low and forward. I don’t dare try to terrain follow. Climbing an additional twenty.”

Hard turns side-to-side threw Daniel back and forth between harness and hard metal hull of the helicopter.

“She’s tough, but she sure doesn’t dance.”

One of the crew chiefs chimed in with, “Don’t ask us to shoot anything; we’d have to kick a hole in the side of the bastard and stick out a FN SCAR.”

The Special Forces Combat Assault Rifle was very useful hand-to-hand, and each of the crew wore one across their chest as a matter of practice. Daniel felt far safer with the two mini-guns of the Black Hawk. Instead of the little rifle magazines that could fit in his hand, the miniguns fired thousands of rounds a minute from large boxes. He liked that.

Yes, it might be more clandestine to visit North Korea in a Mil Hound, but he’d take firepower when entering the most hostile country on the planet outside of Somalia.

This time they called “simulation” on the emergency landing test, but he didn’t like it one bit more this time than the last.

They landed more slowly, but the helicopter complained much more loudly. Sheet metal banged as it flexed. The sharp ringing sound of the shock absorber right under his seat that sent him leaping against his harness made his ears hurt.

“Bottomed out the shocks there,” one of the pilots remarked drily. “Not as forgiving as you’d expect.”

Daniel was so wound up he couldn’t even tell if it was Mark or Emily’s voice. His leap was the only thing that had avoided a seriously bruised butt.

Moments after they were airborne, while they were still clawing for the altitude to clear the bleachers behind the baseball field, Beale shouted over the intercom.

“Incoming! Portside.” An alarm sounded. “Cracked cylinder head, ten percent loss of power.” Sure enough, the sound of the rotor blades slowed, faded ever so slightly.

The helicopter veered to the right, away from the attack, but even Daniel could tell that it was sluggish.

Despite the deck heeling sharply, the two crew chiefs were on their feet. Their vests had a large D-ring on the front. Long tethers were snapped to them which let the chiefs move about the cabin. The other ends were clipped to metal loops in the ceiling.

Some visual signal passed between the two men. The giant one heaved open a side hatch close beside Daniel. The metal door slammed open so hard that the helicopter rang loudly enough to hurt Daniel’s ears despite the protection of his helmet.

The shorter one, Tim Maloney, unslung his FN SCAR rifle and was aiming it out the door. Sergeant Big John Wallace held him in place with one fist wrapped around a handhold and the other grasping the back of Tim’s flight vest.

There was no rattle of gunfire. No flash of— Tim’s suit sounded an ear-piercing squeal!

“s**t!” Tim dropped to the floor still blocking part of the doorway.

Alice screamed and Daniel nearly did the same.

Big John crouched behind Tim and brought his own rifle to bear. Tim remained in place, apparently too wounded to move.

Without hesitation, Daniel reached across the middle of the helicopter’s narrow cabin and pulled Alice’s head down, as far toward his knees as the harness allowed, to reduce her exposure to incoming fire.

Daniel glanced back at the wounded crew chief even as he crouched over her. Tim’s raised hand still grabbed the doorframe. He was wounded past being able to fight, but he was staying in place to act as a human shield for his fellow crew chief. Buying him precious moments to fend off the attackers. It was the bravest thing Daniel had ever seen.

That was when Daniel noticed the bright red flashes on the bulkhead right where Alice’s head had been moments before.

Lasers. It was a training flight and they were being shot with lasers. Tim’s suit must have registered him as hit in the firefight. That’s why it had squealed, a hit. And why his rifle, and now John’s, sounded with no rattle of gunfire.

It was only a mock battle.

Despite that, Daniel was still impressed that Tim had shielded his friend with his own body. He couldn’t imagine doing such a thing. To want to protect someone so much that your instinct put you in front of the bullets.

Once they were in the clear, Daniel realized that he still had Alice trapped down across his knees. Even if he couldn’t imagine throwing himself in front of the bullet, his instincts apparently had other ideas about who he wanted to protect.