"Valkyrie, Valkyrie, Tiger One," Mike panted. "LZ point 487. Winds... Oh, f.u.c.k, I dunno. South I think? Drop the s.h.i.t and get ready to dust-off."

"Roger, Tiger. LZ Point 487. Inbound. I see your teams. Why don't you stop the stretchers. I'll drop the stuff at 487 and come back. You're in a good position."

"Got it," Mike said, stopping, holding up a hand and lowering the stretcher to the ground. "Thanks Valkyrie."

"Gotcha covered, Tiger."

Mike watched as the Hind swept in to the hilltop about five hundred meters away. It didn't even stop or really slow down as the ammo boxes were kicked out the door. Then it banked back towards their position.

They were on a hump in the ridgeline headed up to 487 with a clear view in every direction. Also completely in view of the Chechens but about two klicks away. If the Islamics had heavy weapons they were in trouble. They weren't taking any fire, though.

The Hind settled down lightly and Mike walked over to the pilot's c.o.c.kpit as the wounded were loaded.

"Where's Captain Bathlick?" Mike asked.

"Hogging all the fun," Wilson replied. "The Georgians dropped off their left-over Hind armaments. She used them to take out the bunkers in Guerrmo. And she didn't just take them out, she f.u.c.king flattened them. I guess she's RTB for bullets and gas."

"I think I got all that," Mike said. "We're cut off. Watch the opening to the pa.s.s."

"Knew about it," Tammie said, tapping an instrument. "We shot it up as we pa.s.sed. We'll shoot it up again on the way out. I don't want to lose another crewchief."

"D'Allaird?" Mike asked. "We're f.u.c.ked without him."

"No, sir, one of the Keldara girls," Tammie said, shrugging. She didn't think to mention her name. "Game as h.e.l.l. Took some with her, I think, but she got hit by one of the 12.7s. Wasn't pretty."

"d.a.m.n," Mike said, sighing.

"Anything else?"

"Nope. Just thanks. h.e.l.l of a time, huh?"

"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Tammie said then shook her head. "You know, I just was throwing out a line but... I reallywouldn't want to be anywhere else. Ain't that some s.h.i.t? I just had my crewchief blown all over the bird, I've got so many holes I feel like I'm flying a Swiss cheese andI wouldn't want to be anywhere else .I'm insane."

"Captain," Mike said, gently, "why thef.u.c.k do you think I hired you?"

"Point," Tammie said. "I gotta go. We're loaded. Once more into the breach and all that."

"Unto," Mike corrected. "Everybodygets that wrong. It goes: "Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage.

"Henry the Fifth. Great play. Unrealistic as h.e.l.l and bad history but some of the greatest propaganda ever written."

"d.a.m.n, sir," Tammie said, her eyes wide. "I hadn't expected to hear Shakespeare quoted in the middle of a battle."

"No better time," Mike said. "And no better writer. Less it's Kipling. Now get out of here before you get your pretty little a.s.s shot off."

"We got another engine?" Kacey asked, as soon as her canopy was popped.

The engine wa.s.smoking . Every light on her board that wasn't red was yellow. Her engine temp was running in the red. Her hydraulics were shot. And she had holes all over her window.

"What thef.u.c.k did you do to my bird?" D'Allaird shouted.

"I took out the f.u.c.king bunkers that killed Gretchen," Kacey said. "Now, we got another engine?"

"You need more than anengine ," D'Allaird yelled. "You need yourhead examined! And a windshield.

And a splinter shield. Probably control runs. And from thesmell , a newtransmission !"

"How long?" Kacey asked, pushing herself out of the seat and stepping out.

"That'sit ?" D'Allaird yelled. "How long?I ought to strap you up with rigger tape and throw you in the shed! I don'tknow how long! Nextweek ? There's gotta besomebody around here can ground you!"

"I need it in a couple of hours," Kacey said, walking towards the ready-room. "If you want to use rigger's tape for something, I suggest you start on the holes in the blades."

"I...you... AAARRRGH! I gottwo Czech mechanics and a bunch of people who are willing and got no d.a.m.ned idea what to do! And you want this busted up piece of what was once one d.a.m.ned nice flying machinewhen ?"

"As soon aspossible , chief," Kacey said, spinning on her heel. "There are a hundred of these people's sons and daughters on the other side of those mountains with about a billion f.u.c.king Chechens hunting their scalps. They need three things: Ammo, dust-off andclose-air support ! We cannot do any sort of reasonable dust-off or resupply with the bird loaded for combat. So we needtwo birds, chief.Two . One for dust-off, one for support. So Get This One Flying, Marine! Or admit that all that s.h.i.t you spouted about being a f.u.c.king miracle worker with birds was so much c.r.a.p and get the f.u.c.k out of myface .

Because every second you are flapping your jaw,Gunny , is one more second this f.u.c.ker is not in the air.

Do You Understand Me?"

"Clear, Captain," D'Allaird said, his face hard. "Sorry, sir. I'll get to work on it. I cannot guarantee two hours, sir, but I will do my best."

"Just get it flying, Chief," Kacey said with a sigh. "It don't have to fly great, just fly. Just get me back in the air."

Chapter Forty.

"Okay, Master Chief, now would be good."

Adamslooked at the Chechens on the far hill, and the ones probing forward on either side, and sighed.

"Waited long enough," he muttered. "Oleg!"

"We're ready," Oleg yelled. "Team," he said, thumbing his throat mike, "prepare to retreat. Shota!"

"Now?" Shota called.

"Now," Oleg yelled.

Dmitri, the a.s.sistant team leader, was acting as a combination spotter and loader. He pointed to the hilltop and tapped the big Keldara on the shoulder.

Shota got up on one knee and sighted through the ma.s.sive rocket launcher. Mostly by instinct and with bare use of the sight he aimed at a large rock some of the Chechens were using for cover and fired.

The range was such that he had to angle the launcher upwards nearly thirty degrees for the rocket to reach. Nonetheless, the round traced across the slight valley between the two hills and flew right to the rock.

The round was a thermobaric round that used overpressure rather than shrapnel for its primary killing effect. Better in an enclosed s.p.a.ce than a hilltop it nonetheless laid down a circle of devastation that spread for fifteen meters around the rock that was its target. Even beyond that point, the pressure from the explosion hammered the Chechens so hard that many of them stood up screaming and holding their heads. The other Keldara were more than happy to pick them off.

"Left," Dmitri said, slamming in another round. "On the side of the hill, there..." he said, pointing.

Another TB round flew out, cutting a hole in the attacking Chechens.

"Last one!" Oleg yelled.

"Right," Dmitri said, slamming in another round and pointing.

Another round, another perfect hit and another Chechen squad gutted.

"Say what you will about Shota's counting ability,"Adams said as they pounded down the hillside. "The motherf.u.c.ker is agenius with a rocket launcher."

Commander Bukara stood on the hilltop looking at the dead bodies around him and shook his head.

"It doesn't matter," he shouted. "We have them cornered, now. They are trapped and at our mercy. We will destroy them and then we shall continue to their pitiful valley and lay it to waste once and for all!"

The men around him, though, did not look particularly bucked up by his speech.

"After we receive reinforcements," he continued. "There are thousands of our brethren on the way. We will wait until we can strike them in force. Yes. When our brothers arrive, then we shall a.s.sault."

"Is it just me, or do those Chechens look a little hangdog?" Mike asked asAdams walkedslowly through the preparing lines.

The Keldara were warriors, yes, but they were also farmers. Good ones. And farmers do a lot of manual labor. Whereas your average American soldier looks upon a shovel as a foreign and terrible instrument, to the Keldara they were more familiar than guns. Far more familiar. And they knew how to wield them, oh, yes. There were tricks to using a shovel that only experience and training could impart.

How much of what kind of soil to lift in each load, where, exactly, to strike, small tricks.

Which was why the hilltop looked very much as if a hundred really scarily large gophers were building nests. Fast.

The top of the soil was frozen and would have been nearly impossible to dig through. They'd solved that problem by chopping small holes with their axes then slipping in explosive charges. That broke the frozen crust quite neatly. They'd also used the C-4 they carried to break up boulders or free them from the ground. Rocks were being piled to the front into sangers and the snipers were digging nice little hides with tiny firing slits.

The Keldara might just be getting used to things like helicopters and night vision systems but there wasn't nothin their trainers could teach them about digging. All Mike had had to do was point out slightly better angles of fire.

Adams stopped and just stared at him for a few seconds. Balefully.

"Okay, are you going to let me in on the secret?" Adams said, hefting the M-60E4.

"Nope," Mike said. "But if you want to use it, feel free. I'll give you one hint: don't bother to fire in five round bursts. Just hold the trigger down. I've got the guys setting up pretty good positions for them. Oh, and we'll probably be getting some mortars dropped on our heads, soon. There's not much to use for overhead. See if you can think of anything."

"I'm missing something," Adams said. "If I just hold the trigger down, this f.u.c.ker's gonna overheat. Fast.

It's an M-60. That's what they do."

"Trust me," Mike said, putting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "Yeah. They're f.u.c.king hangdog. They've been chasing us for the last seven or eight hours, they've got us cornered and they're just sitting there."

"That's because there are about four thousand of their buddies coming up to help," Adams pointed out.

"I'd hang back, too."

"Good," Mike said. "I wonder when Tammie can get back here with some more ammo?"

"Valkyrie, Valkyrie, this is Tiger Base, over."

"Go Tiger," Tammie said.

"Divert position 219. FAARP and transfer point established at that location."

"Roger," Tammie said, looking at her instruments. 219 was right on a road junction not far from Guerrmo. "Diverting at this time."

The position was only about five minutes flight time from Guerrmo, cutting at least twenty minutes off the flight. However, she didn't recognize any of the people at the sight; they looked to all be Georgian military. There was a Blackhawk off to one side, though, with a red cross on the side. And there was a fuel truck by all that was holy.

Tammie flared out and set down on the road then shut down. Then she popped her canopy, popped her belts, stretched in her seat and groaned. There hadn't beena lot of flying, but it was tense as h.e.l.l.

"If I weren't married, you would force me to make an offer."

Tammie settled back down and looked at the Georgian officer standing by the c.o.c.kpit.

"Oh, hi Captain..." c.r.a.p. She couldn't remember the guy's name. But shedid remember he was the son-in-law of the Georgian Chief of Staff. So forgetting his name was a major league political boo-boo.

"Kahbolov," the captain said, handing her a bottle of water. If he was offended it wasn't obvious. "We have ammunition for you as well as fuel. If you need anything to eat...?"

"I'm good," Tammie said, opening the bottle and downing most of it. "Thanks for this, though. Is the Georgian military taking over support?"

"Quietly," Kahbolov replied. "My father sent us up here. I have some good ground support people, experienced with Hinds. And some parts. But if you have problems you might wish to go to your own people, I would understand."

"I appreciate it," Tammie said.

"The Keldara are not members of the Georgian military but they areGeorgians , whatever the Defense Minister might think," Kahbolov said. "And they deserve more support than this. My father wishes to send a battalion through the pa.s.s. The Defense Minister is, pardon me, c.o.c.k-blocking him I think would be the term."

"It's perfect," Tammie said, chuckling. She finished off the water and stretched again. "Christ I feel like I've been hammered into dogmeat."

"You do not look it," Kahbolov said. He was looking at the ground.

"Sorry," Tammie said, honestly. "I take it there aren't a lot of female pilots in the Georgian military."

"None," Kahbolov said. "No women in the National Guard. Period. Another thing the Defense Minister and my father-in-law clash on."