Matthew Reilly - Area 7

The noise was shocking up here, deafening. The wind

blast from the rotors made his 7th Squadron clothes press

against his skin, made the Football hanging from his webbing

twist and flap wildly.

Super Stallions have fully retractable landing gear, so

Schofield grabbed a fat cable eyehole as a handhold. Then

he hit a button on the Maghook, allowing it to unspool down

to Book.

Within seconds, Book II was beside him, hanging from

the Maghook on the underside of the Super Stallion.

Schofield grabbed the access hatch's pressure-release

handle. "You ready?" he yelled.

Book II nodded.

Then, with a firm twist, Schofield turned the handle and

the emergency hatch above them dropped out of its slot.

THE MEN INSIDE THE SUPER STALLION FELT THE BLAST OF wind first.

A gale of fast-moving air rushed into the rear cabin of

the Super Stallion a second before Schofield swung up

through the hatch in its floor, closely followed by Book II.

They came up inside the chopper's rear troop compartment,

a wide cargo hold separated from the cockpit by a

small steel doorway.

The two radiomen in the cockpit both spun at once,

looking back into the hold. They went for their guns.

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But Schofield and Book II were already moving fast,

guns up, mirroring each other's movements perfectly. One

shot from Schofield and the first radioman went down. Another

from Book and the second guy was history.

The chopper's pilot saw what was happening, and realized

quickly that a gun wasn't his best way out of this situation.

He pushed forward on the Super Stallion's control stick,

causing the entire helicopter to lurch dramatically.

Book II lost his balance immediately, and fell.

Schofield, already dancing quickly toward the cockpit,

dived to the floor and slid--forward, fast, on his chest-- toward the open cockpit door.

The pilot tried to kick the door shut and seal off the

cockpit, but Schofield was too quick.

He slid head-first--rolling onto his back as he did so--sliding in through the doorway, into the cockpit, and jolting

to a perfect halt inside the threshold--one hand propping

open the door, the other gripping his .44 caliber Desert Eagle,

aimed directly up at the bridge of the pilot's nose.

"Don't make me do it," he said from the floor, his eyes

looking up the barrel of his gun, his finger poised on the

trigger.

The pilot was stunned, his mouth open. He just glared

down at Schofield--on the floor, with his gun held unwaveringly

in the firing position.

"Don't make me," Schofield said again.

The pilot went for the Glock in his shoulder holster.

Blam!

Schofield put a bullet in his brain.

"Damn it," he said, shoving the dead pilot out of his seat

and taking the controls. "I told you, you asshole."

Schofield AND BOOK'S SUPER STALLION ROARED DOWN THE

narrow canyonway, banking with each bend, heading for the

X-intersection where all the rivercraft had nearly collided

earlier.

In his mind's eye, Schofield remembered seeing the

rogue bipod sneaking off down the western branch of that

intersection and then disappearing off to the right, into a narrow

slot canyon at the far end.

With the help of the Super Stallion's map of the canyon

system, he now saw that slot canyon--it snaked its way to

the north, opening onto another lakelike crater with a small

mesa in it.

That was where the rogue bipod had been heading.

But what's waiting in that crater? Schofield thought.

Why are the South Africans heading there?

The Super Stallion thundered down its narrow rock walled canyon, heading for the X-intersection, rounded a bend--

--and came face-to-face with one of the Air Force Penetrators.

Schofield yanked on the control stick, reining the Super

Stallion to a lurching halt in midair.

The Penetrator was hovering above the X-intersection,

turning laterally in the air, looking down each of the four

rock-walled alleyways that met there. It looked like a gigantic

flying shark, searching for its prey.

It saw them.

"Looking Glass, this is Penetrator Three," a voice said

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sharply over Schofield's cockpit intercom. "Got any realtime

imagery from the satellite yet?"

Schofield froze.

Shit.

"Book, quickly. Weapons check."

The Penetrator turned in the air to face the Super Stallion.

"Looking Glass? You listening?"

Book II said, "We got a nose-mounted Gatling gun.

That's it."

"Nothing else?"

The two helicopters faced each other, hovering above

the intersection like a pair of eagles squaring off, a hundred

yards apart.

"Nothing."

"Looking Glass," the voice on the intercom became

cautious. "Please respond immediately with your authentication

code."

Schofield saw the Penetrator's downturned wings--saw

the missiles hanging from them.

They looked like Sidewinders.

Sidewinders ... Schofield thought.

Then, abruptly, he hit the talk button on his console.

"Penetrator gunship, this is Captain Shane Schofield, United

States Marine Corps, Presidential Detachment. I am now in

command of this helicopter. I've only got one word to say to

you."

"And what is that?"

"Draw," Schofield said flatly.

Silence.

Then: "Okay ..."

"What the hell are you doing?" Book II said.

Schofield didn't reply. He just kept his eyes locked on

the Penetrator's wings.

A moment later, with a flash of light, an AIM-9M Sidewinder missile blasted forward from the left-hand wing of the Penetrator.

"Oh, shit ..." Book II breathed.

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Schofield saw the charging missile from head-on--saw

its domed nose, saw the star-shaped outline of its stabilizing

fins, saw the looping smoke trail issuing out behind it as it

rolled through the air heading straight for them\

"What are you doing!" Book II exclaimed. "Are you

just going to sit there--?"

And then Schofield did the strangest thing.

He jammed his finger down on his control stick's trigger.

With the Sidewinder missile hurtling toward it--and

only a bare second away from impact--the Super Stallion's

nose-mounted Gatling gun came to life, spewing forth a line

of glowing orange tracer bullets.

Schofield angled the line of laserlike bullets toward the

oncoming missile, and just as the missile came within

twenty yards of his helicopter--boom!--his bullets hit the

Sidewinder right on its forward dome, causing it to explode

in midair, fifteen yards short of the hovering Super Stallion.

"What the--?" Book II said.

But Schofield wasn't finished.

Now that the Sidewinder was out of the way, he swung

his line of tracer bullets back up toward the Penetrator.

In the near distance, he could see the Penetrator's two

pilots fumbling to launch another missile, but it was too late.

Schofield's tracer bullets rammed into the canopy of the Penetrator--one after the other after the other--pummeling it, pounding it, causing the entire attack helicopter to recoil

helplessly in the air.

Schofield's relentless stream of bullets must have gone

right through the Penetrator's cockpit, because an instant

later, one of the chopper's fuel tanks ignited and the whole

attack helicopter spontaneously exploded, bursting into a

billowing ball of flames before the entire flaming chopper

just dropped out of the sky and crashed into the water below.

with the penetrator out of the way, schofield gunned