Tomorrow is the day, Joe. A heavily guarded truck convoy from the atomic lab area is on its way here. It must be bringing the main parts for the plasma reactor. You know, as we rehearsed, there will be time to launch only three missiles before I must fly to safety. I will fire the first one into the truck, destroying it. Then two into the open hangar door."
Are you sure you will be able to see the door? Joe asked.
Stupid question! Of course I will be able to see it. I will be higher than the fence when I reach my vantage point on that dirt mound.
Why did Comrade Ballinchi not want both of us to go? Our chance of success would be twice as great, he said, while tightening the straps on the rocket pack and carefully adjusting the propellant deflector to miss Dimitris legs. This was the last dress rehearsal before the real thing.
Not so, Joe, we could only smuggle in one Mobile Mover. The little vent building on the jet engine test mound will only conceal one person; besides, I need for you to pick me up after I destroy the truck and hangar. We both must live to do the other work we have been assigned.
I will drive to a point near the fence at midnight. It will be dark tonight, no moon. Fuel must be conserved, and you must not be airborne any longer than is necessary. If you are spotted by a guard, you must have enough fuel to take evasive action, and a reserve large enough for the escape flight. You must have enough to clear the hill we scouted yesterday, and land in that grove of trees where the truck will be waiting.
Comrade, who the hell planned this fucking exercise? You dont have to tell me how to do it. Just do your part!
Midnight, Joe, Im ready. I will fly over to the mound the next time a plane takes off unless a patrol is between me and the mound. The planes noise will cover the noise made by my rocket motor.
I hear one warming up. It will taxi down to this end, and the pilot will fire up those big engines for takeoff in a few minutes. Heres the ARM-18 launcher and three missiles. Joe secured it to the rings on Dimitris belt and put the strap around his neck. Thats good; let me sling the American M-16 automatic rifle over the other shoulder. One thirty-shot clip is in it, and the other is on your belt.
Get ready! I have adjusted the nozzle shield to block the light, the motor has ignited . . . waitthe plane should go to full throttle in about thirty secondsyou are . . . GO!
Red flames shot downward, turning to an almost invisible blue as Dimitri gave it full throttle. Then easing back, he climbed upward, soared a few meters above the fence and hurtled the two hundred meters to a place on the dirt mound. Coming down precisely as planned, he landed behind the little building. The B-52 roared into the sky, not realizing it was providing cover for a terrorist.
Dimitri, using the darkness, took off the Mover and armaments and covered himself and the equipment with a camouflage tarpaulin he had brought. Lying down, he went to sleep. Sleep came easily; he was confident that he was safe. The lazy Yankee guards who were patrolling would never climb the steep slope to look under a tarpaulin rolled against the vent building.
Roaring and screaming, the big jets took off on the scramble alert, awakening Dimitri from a dream about the hardships in the Siberian prisons. He was glad it was only a dream. He had it often when sleeping on the cold ground. Guards, only thirty meters away, were walking around the high, chain link fence in front of Dimitris perch. Someone had covered the fence with corrugated sheet metal on the inside. Added, Dimitri knew, to prevent anyone passing near from seeing inside. Inside the fence was a large concrete apron in front of the hangar, large enough to taxi an airplane out of the building. Several motorized hydraulic racks were parked out of the waynext to the building. Dimitri correctly assumed they were used to move jet engines, being repaired or replaced, from the hangar to the two test firing facilitiesone of which he was now lying on. Civilians were going in and out of the building, getting ready for whatever was coming, and guards were stationed by the doors.
Farther out, MPs circled slowly around the area in open vehicles. If there were the slightest doubt about how trusting these Imperialists Pigs were, he would have cause for worry; but it was not like in the homeland. Here it was so open that reporters often reported what a spy would be shot for.
Finally, after the big rush to get airborne was over, the truck he was waiting for came into sight. Crawling from under the tarpaulin and dragging the launcher behind him, Dimitri started to get ready, but had to dive beneath the tarp as a low flying helicopter came right over his position. Hovering for a moment, it landed in the fenced-off area on a specially marked circle.
Wow! That was close, he said, storing his gear under a makeshift lean-to made from the tarpaulin, contemptuously watching the MPs in a Jeep drive all-round him. Three civilians and a military man got out of the helicopter. This was important; they had sent a high-level welcoming committee.
Time to Die, Yankees! Dimitri muttered between clinched teeth as the truck pulled into the fenced area. Placing the loaded launcher across his shoulder, it took a few seconds to adjust the electronic cross-hair oscillator controls for a null. (The cross-hair electronics measured the distance sonicly, calculated the range, gravitational pull, windage, and provided a laser guide beam.) Everything was ready. After loosening the other two missiles on his belt, he took aim again. It was imperative to fire all three in thirty seconds if he were to accomplish his mission and escape. In practice, he had done it often; he must do it now.
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