"Just another day in paradise," Casey said, taking the plane off of auto-pilot and banking slightly to the left. "Oh, somebody ought to tell the load-master we're picking up some pa.s.sengers."

"They can sit on the hay bales," Ca.s.sie said.

"How's the company?" Captain Jean-Pierre "J.P." Guerrin asked the First Sergeant as he came into the CP.

"p.i.s.sed," First Sergeant Michael Kwan replied, shrugging. Kwan was a short-coupled Chinese-American with eighteen years and a bit in uniform. He'd started off in the 82ndAirborne, transferring to the Ranger Batts when he was a staff sergeant. He'd spent the next fourteen years doing the "Ranger Thang" all over the world. n.o.body but his veryvery close friends dared use his early nickname, "Gook", to his face. "They'll get over it. But they're getting pretty d.a.m.ned sick of the sandbox.

They'd been looking forward to some time onRiver Street ."

"Aren't we all," the CO said. "The good news, what I have so far, is that we're notgoing to the sandbox.

We're going to Georgia, the country just to avoid confusion, and doing some training with a local mountain infantry group. That's all I have right now, but feel free to spread it around. Mountain ops, about like New York this time of year. Pack snivel gear even if we're not going to use it. There is a threat in the area; the Chechens move around in the same mountains. Current plan is an airborne op into a secured DZ that's where we'll be basing. I'm told there are basing facilities."

"So it's a training op?" Kwan asked. "Rumor was that we were dropping hot." Carrying live rounds instead of training ammunition.

"We are," Guerin said with a grimace. "Good training. Either somebody wants to see if we can really do it or the Chechen threat is worse than antic.i.p.ated. I'll do an op-order this evening at 1730. Birds will be at the airfield at 0430, civilian. We're flying to Ukraine."

"And then?" Kwan asked.

"That's apparently still being debated by higher," J.P replied. "We'regoing to Georgia. How is still up in the air. So an all nighter and a long flight with who knows what at the end."

"We can sleep when we're dead," Kwan said, grinning. To be a Ranger for fourteen years you had to positivelyenjoy misery and Kwan was a legend on that score.

"Tbilisi Military Air Field this is USAF Flight 1157, C-130, requesting clearance and approach." Casey switched to intercom and looked over at the co. "Now to see if they speak English."

"Better than that landing inIndonesia ," Sanderson said, shuddering. "He was d.a.m.ned positive he spoke Eeengeesh."

"USAF Flight 1157, Tbilisi Military Air Field Control." The voice was accented but fully understandable.

"We have you are cleared to land Tbilisi Military Airfield Runway Zero-Niner. Turn to heading Zero-Five-Five and descend to Angels Eight, descent ratio one-five meters per second. Conditions overcast at Angels Three to Angels Seventeen. Visibility below Angels Three seven kilometers. Civilian jet aircraft your vicinity at Angels Five, heading one-two-seven, five kilometers, direction zero-five-five.

Note all pertinent flight advisories."

"Ca.s.s?" Casey said, taking the bird off autopilot "They're bringing us in from the east," Ca.s.sie said, looking at the flight advisory bulletins. "Not only is there a note about potentially hostile activity in that general direction, you're going to have to come in over some mountains then drop it down hard. You wanna look?"

"Co has the bird," Casey said. "Maintain bank to zero-five-five, descent ratio fifteen meters per second."

"I have the bird," the co said, taking the controls.

"The security area is way off to one side," Casey said after a second and a slight lurch from the plane.

"The descent over the mountains is pretty steep but nothing much.Nasty approach, though. But that's it, thanks, Ca.s.s."

"You got it," Ca.s.sie said, taking the chart back.

"Commander has the bird," Casey said then glanced at the instruments.

"You have the bird," Jim said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"Fifteen meters ratio," Casey said after a second, sighing and reducing the bank. "One five, Jim.

Definitely not three zero."

"Understood, sir," Jim said, his face blank. "Sorry, sir."

"Not as sorry as you would have been," Casey said with a sigh. "Look at the ground radar."

Jim took his eyes off the glide ratio indicator and looked at the radar then blanched. A quick glance out the window revealed, even through the heavy clouds, a mountainside flashing by.

"Use caution when approaching the edges of the air," Casey said, pompously. "And how can these be defined, Jim?"

"Ground, water or outer s.p.a.ce," Jim said, hangdog.

"Because it is very difficult to fly a plane in all three. Even harder to fly through mountains, Jim. You would have been very disliked by what remained of the crew."

"Commander, this is the load master," a female voice said somewhat nervously over the intercom.

"Go," Casey said, grinning.

"Sir, did we nearly just hit a mountain? Because I can see some out the window. And they're... kinda close, sir."

"Not at all," Casey replied, his eyes glued on his instruments. "We were just looking for mountain goats.

Wait! There's one, out the right side!"

"Really? Where?" the girl asked, happily.

"Man, she's easy," Casey muttered. "Oooo, sparkly!"

Lasko stepped out of the door of the helicopter and took a knee as Sion Kulcyanov stepped out next to him. Both paused and scanned the nearby woodline through their NVGs as the blacked out chopper lifted into the air. The helo turned out to not be piloted by the Chief of Staff's son-in-law, who was instead the co-pilot, but by the commander ofGeorgia 's helo squadron. The crew chief was one of the senior most NCOs in the Georgian National Guard.

General Umarov was taking as few chances as possible on this mission being blown due to leaks.

Lasko didn't let that worry him; that was the Kildar's problem. His was making sure that the landing hadn't been observed and finding a good spot to overlook theactual LZ which was about ten kilometers away.

"Clear right," Sion whispered.

"Clear left," Lasko said, switching to thermal for a second view. "Deer at ten o'clock. Bedding. Right."

"Moving," Sion said, standing up and heading for the woodline.

They had all of tonight and tomorrow to reach the LZ and get a good overlook point. Which was about how slow Lasko liked to move. Sitting perfectly still was better, but ten kilometers in a day or so was close enough.

Chapter Twenty.

"Jim, the idea when landing is that you're going slow enough that you can actuallystop before the runway does," Casey said, making his way past the hay-bales towards the rear doors of the fuselage. When he'd been a kid his family would go visit his mom's parents on their farm in the summer. He'd never expected his aircraft to smellexactly like grandpa's hay-loft. On the other hand, that hayloft had some really nice a.s.sociations so it wasn't all bad.

"Sorry, sir," Jim said, stone-faced.

"I thinkTbilisi control just thinks we're idiots for not asking fortwo touch-and-gosbefore we landed,"

Casey continued. "I'm really hoping they aren't thinking the truth, which is thatone of us, and I won't say which of us because I'm kind, is unable to land a C-130 if his life depends on it."

"Sir, were we planning on two touches?" the load asked as the two officer approached. The load master, Sergeant Lisa Griffitts, was a short, pretty blonde that, to his great chagrin, brought up allsorts of a.s.sociations with hay-lofts in Casey's mind. Unfortunately, she was a subordinate and, thus, very much off-limits. Even if therewere all these convenient hay-bales stacked in the hold.

"Absolutely," Casey said, nodding. "Certification stuff."

"Oh," Lisa said, nodding. "So itwasn't that Captain Sanderson couldn't find the ground?"

"Look! A Doggie!" Sanderson said, pointing out the window.

"Actually, that's an Alsatian, sir," the load master said, not turning around to look out the porthole. "And the guy controlling it is part of a security contingent that just surrounded our plane."

"Really?" Casey said, bending down to look out the porthole.

"Really, sir," Lisa replied. "And not a mountain goat to be seen."

Before Casey could reply there was a banging on the troop door.

"I guess we need to see what they want," Casey said.

Lisa opened the troop door and, at the sight of an American colonel, dropped a step-ladder out.

"Where's Captain Moore," the colonel said, swarming up the ladder.

"Captain Richard C. Moore, sir!" Casey said, saluting. He didn'tquite snap to attention but close enough for an Air Force pilot. "Commander Flight 1157."

"I'm Colonel Mandrell, Military Attache for the Emba.s.sy," the colonel said. "Get your crew down here, Captain. I've got a briefing to lay out and this is as secure as we're going to get inTbilisiAirport . And we're going to be joined in about five minutes by some other people. They'll be in on the briefing. Drop your ramp; they're bring on some gear. About nine hundred pounds plus five personnel. You're probably going to have to dump some hay."

"Yes, sir," Casey said, blinking at the abruptness mostly. "Sergeant Griffiths, if you could..."

"Done, sir!" Lisa said, practically popping her heels together. "Drop the ramp and alert the goats, sir!"

"Goats?" Mandrell asked.

"Nickname for the crew, sir," Jim said, quickly.

"I'mso not going to ask," the colonel muttered.

"Okay, let's get this done," Colonel Mandrell said then paused. "Issues, captain?"

Casey was trying not to stare. But the group of "relief workers" was... a little odd. As was their "gear."

Two were big, unsmiling men, clearly locals, who looked more like bandits in a movie than relief workers. Especially the movie part; both were at least as handsome as he was and that p.i.s.sed him off.

On the other hand, the two ladies with them more than made up for it. Youch! Lisa was hot, Ca.s.sie was hot, these two putboth of them to shame. They were, clearly, locals also in black skirts and colored tops that looked like they'd come right off a National Geographic cover. But... Oh. My.G.o.d . Hot. His brain would have been stuck on hay-bales if it wasn't for the last person in the group.

The last guy was shorter than the men and d.a.m.ned near shorter than one of the women but stocky and clearly in shape. Erect frame with the look of having recently left the military and Casey would put odds on Marines or something "elite" in the Army. Hair cropped on the side, gla.s.ses and... Okay, hehad to be an American. Only an American would go around in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts with Birkenstocks. At least inTbilisi . Admittedly, the temperature had come up a little, but, still...

"No, sir!" Casey responded, looking at the "gear" that had been loaded which was a hugef.u.c.king ma.s.s of black ballistic nylon bags. Some of them had beenreally heavy and from time to time there was a clink or two of metal on metal while loading. The two big locals had done it with the help of four more that must have been related. The four hadn't even said goodbye, though, just dumped the stuff on the deck, piled into a couple of SUVs and driven off without a word. In fact, the entire loading had been in silence.

"Just thinking about redistribution of the materials, sir!"

"Bit more complicated than that," the colonel replied with a sinister smile. "Let me get your basic mission orders out of the way then I'm gone. Before I begin, you're all TS cleared so I won't do the spiel. But this mission is cla.s.sified Code Word Ribbon Blade. Ribbon Blade is a sub-cla.s.sification under Ultra Blue. I personallyhate the new cla.s.sification system but that that means it that youcannot discuss any actions under Ribbon Blade with anyone who asks you up to and including the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The term Ultra Blue itself is cla.s.sified Confidential and Ultra Blue information can only be decla.s.sified by the President of theUnited States or persons so tasked to decla.s.sify Ultra Blue information. Are you clear on this? Let me make it very clear. This is not a mission you can b.i.t.c.h about in the O Club. It is not a mission you can tell your squadron commander about or the wing commander or even the Chief of Staff of the Air Force even if directly asked. Even with other persons that youknow are cleared under Ribbon Blade.

The only person you can discuss this mission with are the President or his designated representatives. I'm going to give you some specific information then I'm going toleave . All further information will come from this gentleman," Mandrell concluded, pointing at the guy in the Hawaiian shirt. "Are we all clear on this? Load master? Are you clear?"

"Yes, sir," Lisa replied, swallowing. "Top Secret, sir. Don't talk about it."

"Try not tothink about it," Mandrell said. "Lieutenant Ferl... How do you p.r.o.nounce your name, Lieutenant?"

"Fur-Laz-zo, sir," Ferz replied. "I understand, sir."

"Captain Phillips?" he asked Ca.s.s.

"Understood and comply, sir," Ca.s.s replied.

"Pilots? Is this clear?"

"Yes, sir," Jim replied.

"Absolutely, sir," Casey said. "Do we ask names?"

"Go ahead," Mandrell said. "But here's the mission. These people are not going toAzerbaijan . You will take off with them then proceed through normal HALO depressurization procedures. Vanner here," he said, gesturing at the guy in the Hawaiian shirt, "will give you the insertion point. You will calculate the drop point and alt.i.tude and so drop them.Then you go to Azerbaijan and your regular mission. Is this clear?"

"They're a HALO team," Casey said. It was not a question, more a statement of unbelief.

"If it makes you feel any better," "Vanner" said, "we're not all that sure of the answer to that question."

"I'm done," Mandrell said. He shook "Vanner's" hand and then the other members of the team. "Good luck."

"Thank you, sir," Vanner said. The two men just nodded but the females both said: "Thank you" in clear if accented English. Delightfully accented.

"I'm gone," Mandrell said, stepping to the troop door and opening it without help. "Captain, get this done."