«We aren’t sure that Hawking died,» the Colonel tilted his head towards his shoulder and carefully answered the Admiral’s silent question. I did the last briefing with him. He was in great shape. A really good mood. According to two reconnaissance aircrafts, his jet crashed here in the area to the south of Raqqa,» he pointed the crash site on the map. «His group reported that he had ejected. Reconnaissance aircrafts also confirmed that they saw a parachute on the ground. They were shot at with a single shot from a MANPAD too.»
«So the militants have received MANPADS from China eventually. Their Arabian sheikhs paid for them…» the Admiral shook his head.
«Yes, Sir!»
«How did they shoot him down? You said the flight range of MANPAD’s missiles was 9,800 feet, no further!
«Yes, Sir!» the Colonel nodded. This data arrived from the Pentagon. However, their trajectory shows that they can fly up to 13,000 feet.
«Hawking’s jet altitude was almost 16,000, right?»
«Yes, Sir! However, the shot was taken from the top of this hill here. They climbed up to the top and cut the distance for a shot. That is just 3,200 feet. Therefore, the missile was right on the edge of its range. The first shot went past the wing of the leader and the second one touched Hawking’s.»
«God damn it!» the Admiral could not take a decision on the rescue of the pilot and this indecision irritated him more than Colonel’s formal report. «Did you find his tracker?»
«Yes, Sir! It is located right in the area of the crash. It’s in the fire. There are about fifty terrorists round there, which is why, we may surmise that Hawking did it on purpose.»
«Hmm… It’s a strange decision. He would have been forced to do that, if he saw they had a device detecting our trackers. But this is impossible. It’s the latest version.»
«Yes, Sir!» the Colonel paused and added: «But the Chinese MANPADS appeared unexpectedly as well.»
«Damn you!» the Admiral could not resist. «We can’t land our people there. If we lose a single one, it will cause uproar in the Senate and heads will roll… not just ours!»
«Yes, I know, Sir. The elections are coming and Republicans will not miss the opportunity…»
«I knew you understood me!»
«Excuse me, Sir, I have one more thing.»
«Which one?» the Admiral felt that his subordinate had some idea.
«We could send a few storm troopers. They would drop empty boxes by parachute a little further than where Hawking landed. If terrorists approach them, our planes fire». This will distract them and enable Hawking to reveal his location… in any way… Yes, he’ll find a way. He will think of something. He has the technical means.»
«And if the terrorists do not approach? Or only half of them do? Or there is a second option: Hawking has gone in another direction? Or the third one: Hawking died. What then?»
«Then you have a clear conscience, Sir,» said the Colonel, quietly. «We can’t do more than that.»
«Hmm… How long do you need to prepare a new group?» asked the Admiral in quite a different voice. His previous doubt and uncertainty had left him.
«Two hours, Sir!» answered the Colonel, cheerfully, barely holding back a joyful smile.
«Do it!» sounded a short order and soon three crews began to prepare for an emergency flight.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon in Latakia. There was a heat wave in the streets and people were hiding in the shadows to escape the merciless sun. The Russian Commander’s room was full of nervous tension. Several people in Russian and Syrian uniform got together to discuss joint plans for conducting an unusual operation. Syrian military men were communicating with their units surrounding Deir-ez-Zor. Simultaneously, General Zakharov was discussing the same things with lieutenant-colonel Sergeyev who was in the city too. Sergeyev was sitting in a small room five hundred miles away and glumly listening to instructions.
«Most importantly, remember the codes as agreed,» said General Zakharov at the end.»
«Yes, Comrade General,» confirmed Sergeyev by radio, leaning his forehead against his hand, and handed the headset to a Syrian officer. «I’m passing you to local men…» he finished tiredly and looked at the captain who was standing by his side. On the other side he heard Arabic speech. The local colonel spoke again with his commanders in Latakia. He often repeated «Naam» – «yes» – and nodded his head. Captain Nechyporenko stood still nearby with a question on his face.
«We should get guns,» Sergeyev said briefly and sternly. «Our mission has changed dramatically. Now they will agree and tell us how to interact in more detail,» he nodded toward the Syrian soldiers, who were sitting at the old antediluvian devices resembling encryption machines.
At the same time on the other side of Syria, on the shore of the Mediterranean, the Commander and General Zakharov again pondered all embodiments of the mission entrusted to them by the General Staff after a short message from «the chief». He asked for «help by any means» in order to rescue the downed American pilot. Both generals understood that the successful implementation of this mission would help him solve certain political goals. Just two days ago the Americans refused to organize a joint rescue group and yet, here it is! What a coincidence! Their pilot was shot down and there seemed to be no one to rescue him.
However, sending Russian jets and helicopters, in particular, was very dangerous and illegal. After receiving information about shots from houses in Raqqa that morning, Russian storm troopers brought a recording with two shots of missiles on the aircrafts. The missiles missed them by about half a kilometer. In the afternoon Syrian intelligence agents confirmed that the terrorists got «FS-6» models of Chinese MANPADS. Now all the helicopters, especially those two in the Deir-ez-Zor, were in danger, but there was still a hope that they would have time to quickly reach the crash site of the US aircraft and rescue the pilot. The hope was that the terrorists will be waiting for the Americans from Northern Turkey, rather than from the south, where the Syrian brigade was surrounded in Deir-ez-Zor. But telling lieutenant-colonel Sergeyev about it plaintext on the radio meant reducing all efforts to zero. Encryption was not useful either. It could be picked up. However, there was no alternative. The only thing left to hope for was that the terrorists would not have time to decrypt the message quickly and Sergeyev’s group would have time to come back safe and sound.
When an hour later he was given a small piece of paper with Arabic script, Sergeyev leaned back in his chair and began to read carefully. He could hear gunfire, single shots and rare, booming explosions of shells in the north. There was a routine check of the enemy’s perimeter «who is where?» When he finished reading, he tore the paper into small pieces and threw them on the floor.
«No shredder. So we’re destroying it the old way!» he smiled sadly noticing captain Nechyporenko’s puzzled look. «The mission’s as follows: we take our guys and fly in the direction of Raqqa. There was an American jet shot down near the mountains. We need to find the pilot. We will have twenty men and weapons,» taking note of the doubt on the face of the captain he added: «We have to depart now to get there before night,» he said almost everything that he had read except the warning about Chinese MANPADS. He was confident that the terrorists would be waiting for the Americans instead of them.
«And how did they shoot it down?» asked the captain.
«Uh… well, „our younger brothers“ from a far yellow country helped a bit. They managed to successfully copy „FS-6“ MANPADS and sold them to the terrorists,» he nodded toward the window referring to the enemy.
«Really?» Nechyporenko was surprised but then he sighed and added: «Ivanych, so, if you’re joking, it’s not that bad then?» he asked hopefully.
«Who knows! I don’t want to evoke evil but my heart is restless,» Sergeyev said sincerely and this recognition made the captain grimace.
«Well, that’s not inspiring,» he said with a sigh. «And what about those „TV-jokers“? They’ll stay alone. They might be bombed or shot occasionally during firing. It’s not Latakia over here,» this question concerned the reporters.
«Gotta leave them to the local guys. They’ve got a few people who graduated from our academies. They speak Russian. So they’ll look after them, I hope. Lets’ go!» the lieutenant-colonel nodded when he saw that the Syrian leader had ended the conversation. «We have to see what weapons they have here. I would prefer «Kalashnikovs» and «Makarovs», he muttered to himself.
«Kalashnikovs» were available but pistols, alas, were not. There were Italian «Berettas» and a lot of ammunition available for them. They could take as much as they could carry. Helicopters were empty, so the «heavy» people were safe to fly.
«Not so many. What else can we take?» the captain Nechyporenko asked Sergeyev, filling the second bag with magazines. «Our guys can’t shoot. They are all drivers and typesetters for publishing, technology support staff, you know,» he said, with a vexed and disappointed voice and Sergeyev immediately made a decision.
«We’ll take only „Kalashnikovs“ then! And maximum cartridges. Let them sit and load magazines until they drop. We’ve got time. Also we’ll need water. That’s all, nothing else.»
«You’re that serious, I thought you’d order a cannon,» the captain tried to smile.
«Are you kidding? I would take a cannon, but there’s not a good one to take. They do not have a damn thing here. No grenades and grenade launchers. Okay, let’s be serious. Time to talk to our guys. What nicknames do they have?»
«What?» Nechyporenko’s eyes widened and several cartridges slipped out of his hands rolling on the floor. «Nicknames? Who?»
«Yes, their nicknames. Start with them first,» the lieutenant-colonel nodded at the soldiers.
«Hey, private Mustafin!» Nechyporenko called one of the soldiers. The young private looked up from the magazine. «The lieutenant-colonel wonders what nicknames you have. Tell him!»
«My nick is Mustafa,» replied the soldier, calmly.
«Well. It’s okay,» said Sergeyev. «All together, repeat his new name out loud ten times: Mustafa!» after the surprised soldiers complied with the order jangling discords, followed from others:
«Tolik Safonov’s is «Safon.»
«It doesn’t work. He’ll be Safar. Got it»? All recite ten times: Safar! Call him only this name from now on!»
«Pyriev Sergey’s is „Pyrchik“».
«It doesn’t work either. He’ll be Abgar. Is that clear? Say it again ten times: Abgar!»
«Edik Tsyba is called „Donut“. He’s a bit stout».
«Hmm… He’ll be Abubakr. Say it again aloud: Abubakr!»
«Isa Alarzoyev ’s name is Isa. What else could it be?» private Ravvil Mustafin shrugged.
«He’ll be Rayis,» concluded the lieutenant-colonel. «Altogether say it: Rayis!» when it was over, he asked: «What’s the captain’s nickname?»
«Me? Why me?» said surprised Nechyporenko.
«Wait! Mustafa, how do you choose a nickname for you commander?» interrupted Sergeyev.
«Sayid…» replied the private quietly and lowered his head to hide a smile.
«Why?» the lieutenant-colonel smiled too.
«He resembles Sayid from White Sun of the Desert,» the newfound Abgar helped his friend.
«Okay. And mine?» Sergeyev saw them all just looking at each other and keeping silent. «Well, why are you silent? I also have to change my name. Speak!»
«You know, we call you by name, no change,» said again Abgar, who apparently was the bravest of them.
«Got it. Then you’ll call me Saraga instead of Sergeyev. Got it? Repeat out loud ten times: Saraga!» When they all finished talking, he knocked on the cartridge box and added: «Now listen carefully: we’ve got no names, no surnames. Only the new nicknames. Now we’re going to repeat them a hundred times more to memorize them. But before that, listen to what the mission is: it is necessary to find a downed pilot and bring him back. If we find him quickly, we’ll come back to the helicopters and fly here to „TV-jokers“ to help them carry their shit. If not, we’ll have to spend some time over there. Therefore, we call each other only our new names. Do I make myself clear?»
«Yes, you do!» a discordant chorus echoed in the large hangar. Sergeyev noticed that none of them said «Right you are’. The guys were tense.
«Okay, go ahead. When we’re back, we will all continue to use these new names before returning to main base in Latakia. There’s no need to blow our cover. The „TV-jokers“ shouldn’t know your real names either. I hope it is clear. Now is the most difficult thing what should we do, if we get stuck in there. Things happen. These radio-sets will be enough for five hours, no longer, so keep your distance, stay in sight, don’t go farther than a hundred paces. After five hours we’ll have to go, even if we do not find the pilot. And the last option is just a contingency.»
«Force majeure or a hell of a mess, so to speak», added Captain Nechyporenko but nobody smiled.
«You may say so,» agreed Sergeyev. So, if we are there without helicopters and any support, the third option comes into effect – we’ll have to return to the city on our own. It’s around a hundred kilometers. So, it’ll take a couple of nights to get here. That’s all. Any questions?»
The soldiers stared blankly at their magazines trying to insert cartridges with disobedient fingers.
«I have a question,» asked the captain. «Are they gonna feed us before departure or shall we arrange barbecue upon arrival over there?»
«Keep calm, don’t show off! It’s not the right time for jokes,» sighed Sergeyev. «They’ll feed us before departure. There will be no food at the site.»
«Of course, there won’t,» grinned Nechyporenko. He couldn’t help joking.
«If someone refuses to go, I won’t compel them to. You’ll just wait for the others coming back here. Remember, if you have questions or other issues, I’m always here. Ask me at any time.»
No one refused; there were no more questions. Before boarding they only managed to collect all the ammunition and eat Syrian combat rations because a sort of soup made in a big kitchen truck looked suspicious. Sergeyev did not want to take risks and eat the local hodgepodge fearing for their stomachs. So far everything went according to the plan and no one was worried. He had to just go to the helicopters and talk to the pilots. He formed that good habit of double-checking the equipment after two failed flights in Yemen. After he miraculously survived, Sergeyev started talking to the pilots and listening to the noise of the engine, as if it was a living organism, every time before boarding trying to catch the slightest strange or unusual sounds in its work. This time, everything was alright. Pilots as usual relied on the power of their god and repeated «in sha’a alla» – «with Allah’s help» – after which he amused them by saying: «Kullutamam fi ilamam, kullu hara min alvar» – «all good things to come, all bad things have gone». Then he banged his palm on the metal board keeping his fingers crossed and went for the captain and his soldiers.
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