Chapter 81
It was the longest half hour of Kasey’s life.
Drake had given her a combat first-aid kit, and she’d tended to the wounded.
This mostly involved hemostatic agents and bandaging to stanch bleeding, including taking care of her own hand.
In Raine’s case, she had fashioned a sling to immobilize his left arm—he’d taken shrapnel near the elbow and didn’t have full functionality.
She had also done her best to keep Chen warm, rewrapping the mylar blankets and activating more chemical heat packs.
He was marginally coherent but desperately needed a warmer environment.
Kasey assured him they were nearly safe, hoping it was a promise she could keep.
She didn’t mind that Drake had appointed her to be the medic—it was, she knew, the correct tactical call.
She had come through the engagement in better shape than most, and she was trained in combat medicine.
Williams and Juri, who were also relatively unscathed, were the natural choices to be assigned guard duty.
As she worked, Kasey tried to listen in as Drake coordinated their extraction via his comm network. He’d been working on it nonstop for ten minutes.
“Copy, fighters almost overhead,” he said into his mic. “Standing by for handoff.”
Sensing a pause in his workload, Kasey asked, “How’s it coming?”
“As well as can be expected. The F-35s are in the area. I’m going to talk to them directly to coordinate the strike.”
“A nine-line briefing?” she asked, referring to the standard briefing format for close air support.
“With some modifications. This comm unit will allow me to talk to the pilots directly. I can also uplink our precise position, which is important given the close quarters we’re going to have on this strike.”
“Any concerns?”
“I want us to reposition before the bombs start raining down. They’ll be laying down thousand-pounders danger close, roughly four hundred meters away.
I’m confident they’ll hit the right coordinates, but we’re keeping it intentionally tight—I want to be as close as possible to the Cheyenne when she surfaces.
The thing is, I’ve never seen bombs hit pack ice before, so I have no idea what the blast effects will be.
Seems like taking cover is a reasonable precaution. ”
“Okay. Where do you want to move?”
He looked out across the wreckage field and Kasey saw his eyes settle on the largest piece of debris. The LC-130’s tail section had cracked off and come to rest mostly intact. It hadn’t caught fire and was resting crookedly on the ice, an upside-down T peppered with random shrapnel holes.
“Tail section?” she asked.
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
If took five minutes to get everyone to the new staging area.
They took up a position such that the tail would protect them from any blast fragments, but not so close that the structure would be a hazard if it shifted from the concussive effect of the bombs.
As soon as they got into place, Drake made radio contact with the F-35 flight lead.
As he began his briefing, Kasey looked up at the sky.
It seemed to change continuously, and at the moment a murky gray void predominated.
The question of what those clouds shrouded, however, hung heavy.
Somewhere above, four sleek fighters were arming tons of smart bombs.
Not far away, three Y-20 transports were preparing to unleash a very different load.
She imagined a sky full of parachutes, hordes of paratroopers raining down on them.
Both drops were going to happen, the only questions being who would be more precise and who would arrive first.
She glanced at the others and sensed everyone having parallel thoughts.
Sharpe and Raine were scanning the dense overcast sky, and Drake also naturally looked skyward as he briefed the F-35s.
There had been no trace of reengagement from the Ice Wolves, and Kasey was increasingly confident they were no longer a threat.
Juri and Williams, apparently, were of the same mind.
Even they, acting as sentries, were looking more upward than outward.
“Heads up,” Drake announced. “I just spoke to the lead pilot. They’ve got radar contact on the inbound transports. Right now they’re about eight minutes from a projected drop. Things are about to accelerate.”
“What do you think the Chinese will use as a drop point?” Williams asked.
“Their current course will take them right over the weather station. That’s roughly where the Ice Wolves landed.
It’s conceivable the Y-20 pilots could shift their drop point based on what happened half an hour ago—but that would require some initiative and decision-making in the field, which isn’t a PLA strength.
Fortunately, they can’t see the ground, which means we don’t have to worry about these fires giving away our position.
That said, with the winds as strong as they are, this airborne force could come down right on top of us. ”
“Now there’s a pleasant thought,” Williams deadpanned.
“We need to focus on what we can control. The plan is for the lead F-35 to drop its stick first.”
“Stick?” Raine queried.
“Sorry, Air Force slang. The bombs will be sequenced to drop in a straight line—not a cluster or multiple strikes on the same point.”
Raine nodded. “There, after four weeks I’ve finally learned something from you.”
Drake couldn’t contain a grin. “The objective is to create a four-hundred-foot stretch of more-or-less open water. That’s what I’m told the Cheyenne needs.”
“How will we know whether we have that?” Kasey asked.
“The fighters can map the ice with their radar, but not with enough detail to give a definitive answer. JSOC has decided there’s only one surefire way to know if the bombs are carving out a berth in the ice that’s sufficient.
After the first stick hits home, I’m going to haul ass over, take a good look, and pass on a report.
If we need a bigger hole, I’ll provide directions referenced to the original strike, and a second aircraft will drop.
We’ll have four iterations to work with. ”
“Won’t all that take time?” Williams asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. We’re hoping that one or two passes will do it.”
“How will the Cheyenne know that it’s safe to surface?” Juri asked.
“Excellent question. We don’t know exactly where she is, and she doesn’t have comm while she’s submerged.
But somebody at JSOC was thinking ahead.
This whole shooting match is going to sound like a nuclear war on Cheyenne’s sonar.
The last jet is keeping two bombs in reserve and will drop them five seconds apart.
That’s the signal to the Cheyenne that it’s safe to surface.
They shouldn’t have any trouble finding the breach. ”
With the plan laid out in full, Kasey was of two opinions.
On one hand she was impressed by its intricacy and innovation.
On the other she was fearful of its intricacy and innovation.
It was a military operation no one had ever imagined, let alone executed before.
And if it didn’t work, for any reason, they would be up against insurmountable odds.
Her musings were interrupted by a subtle change in the world around her.
The source didn’t register right away—Kasey only knew that something was different.
Then it hit her. Prior to the arrival of the LC-130, and the subsequent firefight, the predominant sound for hours had been the howling Arctic wind.
Yet now a different sound reached from the sky.
It was faint at first, then grew more distinct.
The sound of a jet engine. Possibly multiple jet engines.
In an instant, her mental circuitry switched from medic to warrior. Was she hearing four F-35 fighters coming to their rescue? Or three Y-20 transports disgorging paratroopers bent on their demise?
With that, the longest half hour of Kasey’s life ended. The next one, she suspected, was going to move at the speed of light.