Mack Maloney - Chopper Ops

And this made the beast fast.

Damned fast!

He was carving through the warm morning air at speeds he thought impossible for such a huge rotor aircraft. And the odd thing was, it seemed as if he’d been flying the Hind for weeks—and he couldn’t get rid of this feeling. He was actually beginning to think that all the simulator work had been worthwhile.

As for Delaney, he was having the time of his life.

The front seat of the Hind offered its passenger a view and an experience different from any other aircraft. Because of its ultra-forward position and its bubble-like enclosure, it gave the rider the sensation that he was flying without the aircraft.

To this end, Delaney had his nose pressed up against the glass, looking out over the sea, his arms spread as far as the cockpit allowed, as if he was a bird.

Several times Delaney’s enthusiasm rose to such a level, Norton was forced to remind him not to use curse words over the radio. But typically Delaney was letting a slew of them slip.

“Jeesuz Christ!” he kept yelling. “God damn! What a fucking view!”

The fact that Delaney was a fighter jock—and one who had seen combat—meant that his excitement level was, like Norton’s, ice-cold most times. But this was different. The Hind was a monster on the ground, but an eagle in the air.

“Maybe this has been all worth it,” Norton caught himself thinking.

Twenty miles to the northeast, Ricco and Gillis were plowing through the early morning air in a slightly less robust fashion.

The big Hook fuel ship was very fast, but there were several factors working against it at top speed. First of all, there were many tons of gas in the cargo hold. Secondly, Gillis and Ricco were not jet jocks—they flew the big planes. As such, they were not ones to go gallivanting around the sky. To them, smooth and level was the norm.

But this did not mean they weren’t enjoying themselves.

“This is remarkable,” Ricco said several time times over. “How can something so awkward-looking sail like this thing?”

“The Russians can build a great chopper, we have to give them that,” Rooney told them.

He too was enjoying the smooth ride. If it weren’t for the constant sloshing of the jet fuel and the smell from it, it would have been a totally pleasant experience.

“I suppose we can’t ask exactly why we’re flying this bird, can we?” Gillis asked Rooney.

“You can ask,” the CIA man replied, “but I can’t answer.”

“I have the feeling we are supposed to fly it long-range. Am I wrong?” Ricco asked.

“You may be underestimating your upcoming mission,” Rooney replied in a rare bit of candor.

Ricco was about to reply when their radio started crackling.

“This is SGK Base… come in?”

“That’s for us,” Rooney said. “We are call sign Beta Two-Six.”

Gillis grabbed his radio chin mike and turned it on.

“Go ahead base.”

They next heard the unmistakable nasal voice of Gene Smitz. He was in the base control tower.

“Proceed to coordinate five-nine-five at east-northeast…”

Gillis wrote down the instructions, and Ricco began to turn the big chopper northward. His maneuver was met with a great splashing sound from the fuel bladders in back.

“If this is just a training mission.” Ricco asked, “why can’t those things be filled with water—instead of fuel?”

“I really don’t know,” Rooney replied truthfully. “But my guess is, someone figures this training mission could go real at any hour.”

Ricco and Gillis eyed each other. Rooney’s tone was a tad unsettling.

“And you didn’t hear that from me,” the CIA man quickly added.

But at that moment Ricco wasn’t listening. He was looking out his side window. In the low clouds he thought he saw two aircraft heading in their general direction.

“Damn, are we supposed to have any other traffic up here with us?” he asked Rooney.

Rooney leaned forward in his seat and saw what Ricco had spotted. There were two large helicopters flying about a mile below and two miles off their left side. They seemed almost as large as the Hook. Larger even.

“Don’t worry,” the CIA man said nonchalantly. “They’re ours. That’s who we’re being vectored to meet.”

Gillis looked down at the choppers and back at Rooney.

“Really?”

Rooney settled back into his seat. “Yep. Those, my friends, should be the Marines.”

It was the Marines.

Their two huge Halo copters had taken off from Seven Ghosts Key ten minutes before, and had been vectored to the same spot that the huge Hook was now heading for.

Inside both choppers, the Marines were packed in tight. Full loads, weapons ready.

The Army pilots were driving the big Russian cargo copters with ease. Of all the pilots at the Seven Ghosts base, they were the most experienced in flying Russian aircraft—and it showed. Now, looking out the windows of the transports, the Marines could see the huge Hook being flown by Gillis and Ricco.

The Army pilots slowed a bit and allowed Gillis and Ricco to take up a position just ahead and slightly above the two troopships.

Now there was only one piece missing….

Norton took the call from Smitz just seconds after Ricco and Gillis did.

He increased throttles and poured on the coals, and was soon approaching the three other choppers as they entered Box 31.

Once in sight, he radioed back to Smitz, reporting that he had spotted the trio of aircraft. Smitz quickly briefed him and Delaney on the fuel-filled Hook and two Marine-carrying Halos. Then he told Norton to take a position about a quarter mile in front of the big Hook.

Norton did so, and this was how they flew for the next thirty minutes.

So for the first time since the operation began and all the principals had reported to Seven Ghosts Key, the still-unnamed unit was one. They were aligned in a ragged, uneven formation. Heading into the unknown.

But they were flying together at last.

For the next seven days, Norton and Delaney did little more than eat, sleep, and drive the Hinds.

Most of this flying was done at night; most of it in Hind #1. The second Hind, while being nearly identical to the first, was actually a few years older and had more air miles on it. To preserve its operational status, it was decided that the majority of the initial orientation flights would be done in the younger model.

The two former fighter pilots had quickly settled into a routine. As soon as the sun set around 8:30 P.M., Hind #1 would be dragged out of the hangar after being prepped. By 8:45, Norton and Delaney would be suited up and ready for their preflight inspection. Going over the Russian-built chopper with flashlights, checking for leaks, making sure every bolt was still tight and every flying surface was still clean would take about fifteen minutes. Only then would they be ready for launch.

As each flight mandated that both pilots have equal time behind the controls, they would usually fly for three hours, land back at the base, switch positions, and go out again. To see who would serve as pilot first, though, they would flip a coin. In the first few days, Norton won every one of these coin tosses, much to Delaney’s consternation. Flying the first half of the night flight was much more exciting than the second half, and Delaney always seemed stuck with the second shift. At one point, he even accused Norton of having a double-sided coin. From then on, he insisted on flipping his own coin and doing it the full view of witnesses.

It was no surprise that the two fighter jocks were anxious to get behind the wheel and drive the Hind first. The massive chopper was butt-ugly, but it was a real gas to fly. It could do things an F-15 couldn’t. It could fly lower, turn sharper, slow down, speed up, all at a touch of the controls, which both of them knew by heart now.