SOAR: A Black Ops Novel полностью

1011:41. Ritzik looked up as he unslung the AK. The dark belly of the HIP pivoted, then swung away, revealing a shockingly blue sky. Shepard put his arm through the rocket sack, flipped it onto his back, and snatched up the launcher. Ritzik took Ty by the shoulder straps of his body armor and dragged him to cover.

The sniper’s eyes opened and he tried to speak. But nothing came out but a gasp. Ritzik said, “We’ll be back for you.”

1011:52. Ritzik and Gino ran a jagged pattern just below the ridgeline until they reached the cover of trees. The two men threw themselves down and crawled until they had a clear view of the road below. Shepard reached back, plucked a rocket from the bag, jammed the rocket into the muzzle of the launcher, and hefted the assembly onto his shoulder. Then, careful to make sure that Ritzik was hunkered clear of the RPG’s backblast area, he aimed the rocket halfway down the southern ridge and pulled the trigger.

1011:52. “X-Man — keep your glasses on the pilot. Give me a running commentary. I want to know every time he takes a breath.” Rowdy’s focus was on his RPG, but his peripheral vision picked up the HIND as the gunship reacted to Mick’s maneuvering.

“Gotcha.” The CIA man squinted into compact field glasses. “Pilot’s looking down at his instruments, concentrating on something,” X-Man said. “Can’t see behind his visor, but his mouth is moving like hell.”

The HIND slowly crested the southern ridge, not three hundred yards from where Ritzik and Shepard lay. X-Man panned away from the gunship, catching Shepard as he fired the RPG. The spook followed the rocket’s path with the binoculars.

1011:59. “Didja see that?” X-Man’s voice was excited. “It was almost like he stuttered the goddamn chopper when the RPG blasted into the hillside.” And then the spook ducked instinctively as the HIND’s Gatling began to chew up the south ridge where the RPG had exploded.

“C’mon, c’mon, X. Sit-rep.” Rowdy watched as the rounds walked down the ravine, debris flying. Suddenly the HIND yawed, then recovered. “X, goddammit, what’s happening in the frigging cockpit?”

“Pilot just flipped up his visor. He’s looking down into the ravine.”

Rowdy found the gunship and settled the RPG’s iron sights on the HIND as it rocked, then steadied itself. The big ship, he noted with some satisfaction, was cumbersome at slow speed. “C’mon, X — where’s the John Madden?”

“He’s scanning the ravine,” X-Man said. “Coming down slightly. Oh, wait — he just shouted something into his mike. His lips are moving a mile a minute.”

Rowdy settled the sights on the HIND’s baffled air intakes, the muzzle of the RPG dropping evenly with the chopper.

“He’s dropping some more. Talking. Oh, oh, oh — his eyes went wide. He sees the bomb now. He’s—”

Rowdy shouted, “Execute! Execute! Execute!” into his mike.

There was about a three-quarter-second lag. And then all three RPGs fired in rapid sequence into the ravine, shrieking away from the launchers, trailing white smoke.

Masland’s shot missed. The rocket struck the armored glass of the HIND’s forward cockpit. The impact shook the gunship but never penetrated the gunner’s thick protective cocoon.

Through his field glasses, X-Man followed the smoke trail as the second round went wide, detonating against the shell of the burning truck. He watched, frozen, screaming, “Oh, shit,” as the HIND’s gunner manipulated the Gatling’s muzzles up, up, up, and left, trying to swivel the gun in the direction the RPG rounds had come from.

And then Rowdy’s big forearm smacked the spook’s head from behind, the binoculars went flying, and X-Man was knocked to the ground.

Because Rowdy’s rocket had found its mark: the big crate holding the MADM, and the Chinese Pentolite detonated with an even bigger explosion than Rowdy had dared to hope for.

The blast caught the belly of the HIND, blowing the gunship’s stubby wing off. The chopper yawed right as the pilot reacted. Then a huge pressure wave hit the aircraft, and almost immediately, the HIND began to drop. Rowdy watched as the HIND’s pilot fought with the controls, trying to stabilize his aircraft. But he couldn’t. The Pentolite created a huge vortex of negative pressure, and the rotors couldn’t bite air because there was literally no air to bite.

The HIND bucked, then dropped rocklike onto the ravine floor. The rotor tips hit the ground, disintegrating as they cut themselves into shrapnel.