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Connie returned to the helicopter mere minutes ahead of the prearranged “go” time. John took the woolen cap and squeezed her hand through the thick wool. It steadied her heart rate. Calmed her nerves.
At the predesignated second, Major Beale yanked the collective and shoved the cyclic forward. In moments they were up and out of the fjord and racing along at ten meters above the ground, well below tree level.
The heavy overcast and light snow were ideal. They’d be nearly invisible and the rotor noise was muted by the descending flakes. A blizzard would be all the better. It would be nice to see how the stealth mods behaved in a high-wind, zero-visibility attack scenario. Already the ADAS was proving a more than fair replacement for the FLIR.
Connie watched as they flew along the wide
