Rogue Element

The AV-8s came in slow and didn’t bother ‘trapping’, picking up one of the four heavy cables strung across the deck that brought jets like the Tomcat from 130 knots to zero in a neck-breaking three seconds. They came in over the fantail with drooping wings and dangling landing gear and hung in mid-air above the deck like giant mechanical gnats. The AV-8s appeared to defy gravity, descending slowly on invisible columns of air. They taxied to the space vacated by the jungle-camouflaged Black Hawk, which had slipped away unnoticed by most of the Australians during the show put on by the new arrivals.

Refuelling carts raced to the Harriers in a practised ballet. The pilots opened their canopies, loosened their harnesses and oxygen masks, and pushed themselves up and out of their ejection seats. Aircraft handlers wheeled over ladders to help the pilots down from their aircraft. The two officer pilots then trotted over to the ‘island’, disappearing inside the hatch.

‘They’re yours,’ shouted the marine captain over the shriek of turbines, indicating the AV-8s. ‘And so is that.’ He directed Wilkes’s gaze to the large hole in the deck that had opened up. An aircraft levitated up from the blackness. It looked like a mutant helicopter, or a genetic experiment gone horribly wrong, with two enormous black propellers sitting across the top of the fuselage. The cockpit area was heavily glassed and looked similar to the front end of a Huey, the UH-IB, the helo most people associated with the war in Vietnam. The back half of the aircraft was reminiscent of the Hercules, except that a C-130 didn’t have its horizontal stabiliser between two vertical fins like this aircraft. It couldn’t possibly fly. It was, without doubt, the most unusual-looking aircraft Wilkes and his men had ever seen.

The puzzled look on the combined faces of the Australians indicated an explanation was needed. McBride provided it. ‘It’s called a V22 Osprey, made by Bell and Boeing!’ shouted the captain. That didn’t seem to help. ‘The new Tiltrotor — part aeroplane, part helo and better than both. Cruises at 270 knots with a self-deploying range of over 2100 nautical miles. Designed to get us in and out of trouble spots before the enemy knows what’s going on.’

Wilkes nodded, liking the sound of that.

Recognition spread on Ellis’s face. ‘Weren’t these things grounded?’ he shouted.

‘Yeah, but we think we’ve nailed the problem — a glitch in the software that ran the flight control computers.’

The words ‘we think’ and ‘glitch’ were not very reassuring and Wilkes couldn’t stop himself eyeing the aircraft suspiciously.

‘Don’t worry, Sarge,’ said the captain, smile gone. ‘This is one safe motherfucker. We wouldn’t be putting you and your men on it if it weren’t. A successful mission under combat conditions is what the V22 program needs.’

It distinctly sounded to Wilkes and Ellis like they were being used as guinea pigs. But what option did they have?

‘It’s lucky for you, actually. The V22’s been on a limited joint navy/marine shakedown trail. You know, to re-prove the concept that had been proven the last time we reproved it,’ he laughed, as if sharing an in-joke. ‘That’s why we happen to be here in the right place at the right time for you guys. That baby there’s how we’re going to do this thing.’ The marine captain spoke as if the mission was in the bag already.

‘What’s our flight time, sir?’ asked Wilkes.

The captain checked his watch. ‘We’ve got some pretty hefty tailwinds. Around two hours will see you on the ground at your drop-off point, but we’ll know precisely when we’re airborne. We’ve got extensive comms on board this baby and we’re expecting satellite intel to come through en-route to make sure you let down on the right spot.’

‘You coming along, Chuck?’ asked Wilkes.

‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ the captain laughed.

Wilkes didn’t see the humour.

The Australians watched as the V22’s wing swung from its storage position, lying along the top of the fuselage, to the place where a wing should be on an aeroplane. At least now it looked like something that could fly. Maybe.

Jakarta, 0600 Zulu, Friday, 1 May

Elizabeth surveyed the room, looking for errant belongings. The disturbing satellite photo was on the bed. She placed it in the envelope and reread the instructions on her laptop. The people back home were convinced the general was somehow responsible for the crash, and that seriously pissed her off.