Free Pandora's Grave by Stephen England Page B

coming down.”
    “Right away, sir.”
     
    1:45 A.M. Tehran Time, September 24th
    The Huey
     
    “Thirty klicks,” Tancretti announced grimly, replacing his NVGs. “I have the bird, Jeff.”
    “Roger, sir. We should be there soon.”
     
    “What is the maximum range of your radar?” Major Hossein asked, glancing at the missile crew. It was a question he regretted not asking before.
    “Twenty-five kilometers, sir. Wait a moment!” the man exclaimed, typing something into the small computer in front of him. “We have a contact, just coming into our range.”
    “Identification?”
    “Nothing, yet. It will take a couple of moments for the system to analyze the threat.”
    Hossein watched the screen intently, waiting as the blip grew larger. “How soon can you engage?”
    “Once the target is within twelve kilometers. At that point, we will switch on our fire-control radar and take them out.”
    “Get it done.”
     
    “Eight klicks out,” Colonel Tancretti announced over the intercom. “Get ready for insertion.”
    Harry nodded wordlessly, looking around at his team. They were ready. It was time to do their job. To say they did not fear what lay ahead—that would have been an error. They were all afraid. Any sane man would be. But this was what they were trained to do.
    “Seven klicks…”
     
    4:52 P.M. Eastern Time
    NCS Operations Center
    Langley, Virginia
     
    Lasker was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened. “Sir, we just finished interfacing our comms with the Air Force network.”
    Kranemeyer transfixed him with a hard glance. “What are you telling me for? Do it, for heaven’s sake.”
    “Right, sir. Follow me.”
     
    1:53 A.M. Tehran Time
    The campsite
     
    “Another kilometer, sir, and we can launch,” the technician informed him, glancing away from his screens.
    Major Hossein nodded, impatient. This was it.
     
    The Huey
     
    Tancretti’s headset came alive suddenly, a burst of static over the hitherto silent radio network. “Colonel, this is Danny Lasker, communications coordinator for Operation TALON.”
    What on earth?
    “I’m ordering mission-abort, colonel. You’re flying into a trap.”
    “Say again, sir?”
    “Luke, we’ve got a problem,” the co-pilot exclaimed. “We’re being illuminated by fire-control radars, type ‘Scrum-Half’, I repeat, ‘Scrum Half.”
    “Roger,” Tancretti acknowledged, his mind whirling. A narrow canyon appeared in front of him and he pulled back on the control levers, forcing the old helicopter up and over…
     
    Two 9M331 missiles rose from their launcher, accelerating rapidly as they flashed across the desert, their burning tails like a meteor in the night sky.
    Kill probability: ninety-five percent.
     
    Harry heard the conversation in the front, heard the warning, felt the helicopter lurch upwards. The ground flashed past below him, only feet away. “Out! Out! ”, he heard a voice scream, realizing a moment later that it was his own.
    He grabbed Davood by the shoulders and shoved him toward the door, following a moment later. Harry hit the ground on his side, the impact driving the breath from his body, his AK-47 landing a few feet away.
    Rolling over, he started to reach for it, groping blindly in the darkness. The next moment, the world exploded around him…
     
    4:55 P.M. Eastern Time
    NCS Op-Center
    Langley, Virginia
     
    Five thousand miles away, Daniel Lasker could hear the explosion over the open comm link.
    “Colonel! Colonel! ”
    There was no response. Only the hoarse echo of his own voice in a suddenly still operations center. The comm specialist turned to face Kranemeyer, his face a ghostly white.
    “They’re gone,” he whispered. “They’re all gone .”
     
    1:57 A.M. Tehran Time
    The campsite
     
    The major could see the explosion off in the distance, hear it reverberate through the mountains. The technician looked up from his radar screen. “Target destroyed, sir,” he reported, making no attempt to