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“There was another one, farther up on the stairs,” Sergeant Orson said. “I figured I’d take him first.”
Four unarmed Little Birds now suddenly appeared, from four different directions, and rapidly approached the 727. There were six Gray Fox soldiers on the outside platforms of each, all dressed in black outfits topped with black balaclavas.
The Little Birds had made a “fly the needles” approach to the 727. Their onboard computer-directed navigation systems, knowing within six feet both their position and that of the 727, had provided the pilots with indicators—“the needles ”—on the control panel. So long as the pilots kept the needles where they were supposed be—increasing or decreasing airspeed, changing direction or altitude caused the needles to move—all four of the Little Birds were able to arrive, from four different directions, at a little better than seventy-five miles per hour, within seconds of one another.
The Gray Fox soldiers dropped nimbly from the benches before the skids of the Little Birds actually touched down. Some of them fired close to—not at—the security personnel, which caused the defending force to immediately raise their hands, fall to their knees, or both.
One special operator dashed to the flower truck, somewhat rudely removed the driver from behind the wheel, got behind the wheel, started the truck, drove toward the Central American Aerial Freight Forwarding building, and then jumped out, leaving the truck on a collision course with a Peugeot sedan parked in front of the building, which, in fact, occurred some thirty seconds later.
During those thirty seconds:
Two four-man teams of Gray Fox men rushed to the forward stairs. One man ran halfway up the stairs, from where he threw a Whiz Bang grenade through the open door. A Whiz Bang goes off with a great deal of noise and a blinding flash but does not produce shrapnel. Those in close proximity to a detonated Whiz Bang, however, usually have trouble hearing and seeing and generally appear confused.
As soon as the Whiz Bang went off, the man who had thrown it rushed the rest of the way up the stairs, closely followed by the three other members of what General McNab had dubbed the “Front Door Team.” To get into the aircraft, it was necessary for the Front Door Team to step over the bodies of two men on the stairs.
Fifteen seconds after they entered the fuselage, two of the Gray Fox men came back out the door, went to the fallen men, and unceremoniously dragged them into the airplane.
As soon as they had cleared the door, the “Moving Stairs Team” of four Gray Fox soldiers started to push the stairs away from the aircraft.
Meanwhile, four Gray Fox soldiers—the “Tug and Chocks Team”—had approached the tug. One of them climbed aboard while the other three detached the tug’s link to the front wheel of the aircraft and removed the wooden blocks from the aircraft’s wheels. As soon as that was done, the tug started to move off. The Gray Fox driver set it on a collision course with the Peugeot and jumped off.
At the same time, the “Ground Auxiliary Power Team” went to that generator. One of them fired it up while a second made sure the cord was properly plugged into the aircraft. The other two made a hasty examination of the aircraft to make sure it was not connected in any unexpected other way with the ground. It was not.
And, simultaneously, the “Rear Stair Door Team” rushed to the rear stair doors. One of them, stepping over one body, climbed as far as he could—he encountered another body— and threw a Whiz Bang into the passenger compartment. It went off within two seconds of the one thrown through the front door.
The grenadier, closely followed by his team members, then went into the aircraft and twenty seconds later came out again.
He spoke to his microphone.
“Clear. No apparent damage. This fucking thing is full of flowers. What the hell is that all about?”
The team who had entered the aircraft through the front door began to descend the rear stairs. Master Sergeant Charles Stevens, who was in overall charge of both the Front Door and Rear Stair Door teams and had accompanied the latter, suggested to them that assisting in taking the bodies on the stairs aboard would be a nice thing for them to do.
He didn’t use those words but they took his point.
As Castillo and Torine ran toward the aircraft, they saw a half-dozen brilliant yellow vehicles of the Tomas Guardia International Airport fire department racing across the field toward the blazing fuel truck.
So far, no one seemed to be paying much attention to what was happening near the 727, not even to the four Little Birds sitting there with their rotors slowly turning.
“APU’s up and running, sir,” Master Sergeant Stevens said to Colonel Torine. “We’ll stick around until you get it moving.”
“You stick around until I get one engine running,” Colonel Torine said. “Then disconnect the APU and get out of here. There’s nothing more that you can do.”
“Yes, sir. Good luck, Colonel. You, too, Major.”
He saluted as Castillo and Torine went up the stairs, which were slick with blood.
Colonel Torine got in the pilot’s seat, adjusted it to accommodate his long legs, strapped himself in, and then looked around for something he finally found on the shelf over the instrument panel. He handed it to Castillo.
“Checklist, Charley,” he said as he reached for the master buss switch.
“One, gear lever and lights,” Castillo read.
“Down and check,” Torine responded.
“Two, brakes,” Castillo read.
“Parked.”
