Vortex

He was still only halfway there when the Alouette flared out and landed in a swirl of dust and hot exhaust. Its engine whined down slowly-fading in time with its slowing rotor blades. The helicopter pilot, a young, stick-thin man with straw-colored hair, jumped out and hurried forward to meet him.

The young man’s clean, pressed uniform contrasted sharply with Bergen’s rumpled clothes, already filthy after several days in the field.

“Lieutenant Bankkop, reporting for duty. “

“Where the devil have you come from, then?” asked Bergen as he returned the pilot’s salute and then held out his hand.

Bankkop smiled ruefully.

“Normally I’m the shuttle pilot for VIPs, but the brigadier thought you might be able to use me today. “

Bergen nodded emphatically.

“He thought right, for once. You’re all the reconnaissance I’m going to get forward of my own positions. Understand?”

The pilot nodded back.

“Good, then get aloft and head east along the highway. See if you can locate the enemy column. I need to know how much time I have.”

Bankkop paused just long enough to agree on radio frequencies and to pick up a map before sprinting back to his machine. Less than a minute later, the Alouette was aloft, nose down and engine screaming as it gathered speed. It raced east just above the ground, darting around or over obstacles like some giant insect.

Bergen climbed into the back of the command truck and found a spot where he could sit and listen to the radio without getting in the way. A wise commander doesn’t disrupt his headquarters staff unnecessarily.

Nevertheless, he wanted to hear Bankkop’s radio reports for himself-the instant they came in. It was vital that he know the Cuban column’s exact position and approximate strength. In the meantime, he could rest.

He leaned back against the truck’s canvas wall and closed his eyes.

At two hundred kilometers an hour, the little helicopter should reach the

Cuban column’s last reported position in minutes at most. But every minute Bankkop flew east was another twenty minutes of preparation for his men.

Far too soon, the lieutenant’s voice came over the radio.

“I can see a group of scout vehicles. Roughly ten klicks from your position. I don’t think they’ve seen me. Continuing east. Out. “

Bergen kept his eyes closed, but his mind was racing at high speed. The

Cuban scouts were probably several kilometers ahead of their main force.

Given that, he tried to calculate when he could next expect to hear from the dapper young helicopter pilot. Even at cruising speed, it shouldn’t be more than a few seconds.

Then he remembered that the Alouette wouldn’t fly a straight-line course along the road. Like any scout advancing in hostile territory, Bankkop would move from cover to cover, searching carefully from a protected position before darting forward.

The speaker crackled with static: signs of… no fire… forward.

” Bergen frowned. Broken, static-laced transmissions were a common problem during low-altitude flight. Hills, trees, even the curvature of the earth itself could block a short-range radio signal.

Now they’d have to wait for the helo’s return before they got any information.

Suddenly it felt hot and stuffy inside the canvas-topped truck. Bergen stepped outside for a smoke. As he lit up, he scanned the hills to the east again. He heard a shout, saw one of the lieutenants pointing, and raised his binoculars.

There. A wisp of dust floating above the railroad line, half obscured by the raised embankment the tracks rested on. Searching slowly, he saw another, about fifty meters back. The Cuban scout cars Bankkop had spotted earlier were arriving.

But what else had the Alouette pilot seen?

Bergen quickly scanned his positions. His engineers were out in the open, still frantically building obstacles across the highway-They’d probably be under fire in another five or ten minutes. Were a few more mines and barricades in place worth risking their lives for? He shook his head and ordered them back in cover.

Someone shouted from the command truck. -Kommandant!” He ran the few steps back and quickly climbed inside.

Bankkop’s voice was on the speaker again, loud and clear, but hurried:

“.. . overcome interference, am at medium altitude. Main column coordinates Romeo three six, Yankee one five. Thirty plus tanks, large number APCs, self-propelled artillery, and SAMs in support.” The engine noise underlying Bankkop’s voice stepped up in pitch and he paused for a moment.

“Enemy aircraft in the area. Returning to your position now.

Out.”

Bergen silently thanked the pilot for the information, and for his bravery. By climbing he’d restored radio contract, but he’d undoubtedly also drawn unwelcome attention to himself.

The Kommandant, along with most of his staff, went outside.

He knew it would be only moments before the helicopter arrived back over his position. He could hear his operations officer relaying the order for all platoons to hold their fire.