Minutes earlier, Clark had made a request and Hooper acquiesced. Sesniak climbed out of the copilot’s seat, and Clark tookhis place and donned a set of night vision goggles. Hooper would do the flying using his own NVGs while Clark, who had the best tactical eye on board, would concentrate on reconnaissance.
“I’ll take her down to a thousand feet,” Hooper announced. They were nearly there already, having performed a fuel-efficient idle descent to arrive at this point.
“Ten miles to go,” Hooper said. “Where exactly do you want me to fly?”
“Left of the runway. I need to get a good look at that hangar.”
Hooper banked the jet accordingly.
Clark saw the runway easily using the optics, and the hangar gained clarity. The NVGs were good, and from a mile away he could tell the hangar’s twin doors were closed. He saw one aircraft parked next to it—the unmistakable silhouette of an Il-76 transport. The perimeter fence was also clear, and Clark saw a half dozen vehicles parked haphazardly around the hangar. As they reached the approach end of the runway, he began to discern people—at least a dozen on the perimeter and a few milling around the hangar.
“How does the runway look?” Clark asked.
“Clear as far as I can tell,” Hooper replied.
“Usable?”
A pause. “Unfortunately, yes. But like I said, this storm is about to hit. If we land, we might not be able to take off for hours.”
“What about a Shahed drone? Could one of those take off in a storm like this?”
“Not a chance. It’d be tossed into the dirt like a kite by the kind of winds that are coming.”
“You thinking what I’m thinking, boss?” Ding’s voice from behind.
Clark turned and saw him standing in the doorway behind the observer’s seat.
“This was one of the contingencies we discussed,” Clark said. “With the drones trapped in the hangar, we can stop this attack dead in its tracks by securing the airfield.”
Hooper said, “Mr. Clark—”
“My decision is made, captain. Turn her around and land, the quicker the better. Ding, give a three-minute warning—everything as briefed for an immediate assault on the hangar.”
“Will do.”
As Ding turned to address the team, a loud crack on the starboard side got everyone’s attention. Clark looked to his right and saw a small hole in the aft side window, a spiderweb crack around it. A bullet hole. Since they were low, there was no issue with pressurization. But the greater problem was obvious.
Ding said, “I think we just lost the element of surprise.”
“Honestly,” Clark said, “I never figured we were going to have it.”
Hooper lined the Gulfstream up with the runway after a tight reversing turn. Sesniak returned to the right seat, but Clark retained his NVGs.
He didn’t like what he saw in the low-light panorama. Flickers of semiautomatic fire were coming from both sides of the runway. They would have to stop quickly to access the exterior cargo door, which was aft and on the port side, and retrieve their heavier weapons. Stopping on the runway, however, would expose them to a fierce cross fire.
The jet touched down firmly and Hooper stood on the brakes.
As they slowed, Clark heard the muted pings of bullets striking the fuselage. The more they slowed, the easier a target they became. The wide-open runway seemed like a death trap.
Passing through one hundred knots, Clark shouted, “There! That berm, steer toward it!”
On the right side of the runway was a pile of sand the length of a semitruck and half as high. It had probably been created when they’d swept the runway clear.
“There’s no taxiway!” Hooper argued. “That puts us in the dirt.”
“It’s that or we end up dead! Do it!”
The nose of the jet slewed right.
