"Spot for the artillery, if it's available," Valentine said, trying to give intelligible orders while racking his brain for what he knew about helicopter function. "Target that cherry bomb by the holes. And send Base Defense Southwest to Colonel Meadows."
"Base defense southwest, yes, sir," Lewis repeated.
Another plane roared by, seemingly inches from the garage, with a suddenness that momentarily stopped Valentine's heart.
"I do not like these airplanes," Ahn-Kha said.
Valentine watched the smaller helicopters shoot off more rockets, but these just sent up more thick clouds of smoke, putting a dark gray wall between the observation point and the holes.
"If we can't see them ... set up the puddler. Lewis, any word on the artillery?"
"Sounds like they've been hit too, sir," Lewis said, taking his hand away from the ear not held to the phone.
The twin-rotored helicopter blew just enough smoke away with its massive blades so they could get a quick look at it as it landed by the hole.
"That's your target," Valentine said. "See the smaller rotor, spinning at the end of the tail? Aim for the center of that."
Smoke obscured the quick glance, but Valentine had seen something emerge from the hole dug by the worm, a turtlelike shape.
"Our mortars, anything, get it put down on that hole!" They can shoot a hundred shells a day into the Dallas works, but they can't drop a few on hove Field.
"Nothing to shoot at, my David," Ahn-Kha said, ears twitching this way and that, telegraphing his frustration. The Grog had his gun resting on his shoulder and its unique bipod. The gun muzzle was suspended by heavyweight fishing line from the bipod arching over it rather than resting atop the supports, allowing for tiny alterations and changes in direction, typical of creative Grog engineering, right down to the leather collar that kept the line from melting. The black-painted line acted as a fore sight when Ahn-Kha wasn't shooting through the telescopic sight.
Valentine felt impotent. "Tell Meadows it's a breakout," he said to Lewis. "I think the Kurians are trying to run for it with the helicopters."
"Why didn't they just land on a street in Dallas?" Lewis asked.
"We've got high-angle artillery there," Valentine said.
"Sir," the Arkansan shouted as the smoke clouds cleared. Some kind of bay doors had opened at the rear of the massive helicopter, which rested on thick-tired multiple wheels. The turtlelike thing, which looked to Valentine like a greenish propane storage tank crawling across the runway without benefit of wheels, tracks, or legs, had turned for the big chopper.
Ahn-Kha's gun coughed and Valentine's nose registered cordite. Ahn-Kha didn't bother to watch the shot. Instead he drew another highlighter-sized bullet from his bandolier and reloaded the gun.
But the smoke was back.
Valentine could just make out the helicopter through the thinning smoke. Explosions sounded from back toward the terminal, as another piece of the Razor military machine was blown up.
Ahn-Kha must have been able to see the rear rotor for a second- he fired again. Valentine marked the strange tanklike thing entering the rear of the helicopter ... it was like watching a film of a hen laying an egg run backward.
"Where's the fuckin' support?" the Arkansan asked, voicing Valentine's thoughts exactly.
Valentine heard engines on the ground. He looked to the south, where a few of the Razors' strange conglomeration of transport and patrol vehicles-including two prowlers-were barreling past the statue of Flight at the edge of the airport buildings.
"Holy shit, the cavalry!" the Arkansan shouted.
Valentine recognized the salt-and-pepper hair of the man at the minigun in the lead prowler. Captain William Post. It was hard not to join the private in screaming his head off.
The aircraft spotted the vehicles too. A twin-engine airplane swooped in, firing cannon at the column. Valentine saw one big-tired transport turn and plow into the garage.
Ahn-Kha fired again, and the helicopter wobbled as it left the ground, rear doors still closing. The helicopter lurched sideways- perhaps Ahn-Kha had damaged the rear rotor after all.
The pilot managed to get the helicopter, which was skittering sideways across the field like a balky horse, righted.
Light caught Valentine's eyes from above and he looked up to see muzzle flash from a big four-engine aircraft above. Some kind of gun fired on the approaching vehicles.
But the Razors had guns of their own-and someone trained them on the staggering helicopter. Machine guns and small cannon opened up, sending pieces of fuselage flying. Black smoke blossomed from the craft's engine crown, instantly dispersed by the powerful rotors.
Ahn-Kha shot again.