68
They’d gathered round. The D-boys faced outward in a defensive perimeter. Except for Michael. Major Beale had left the rotors at full spin, just flattened so there was no life—ready to go in an instant. Viper roared by close overhead. A rapid spate of fire indicated another machine gun guard.
The nasty burr of a Minigun firing lasted under two seconds. Apparently enough to kill another target.
Connie had trouble following the Ukrainian woman’s accent. She did a running translation as well as she could for everyone listening.
The woman was shouting to be heard. Too loud. Too fast.
“If they find me, her, with no bombs, I, she will be dead. Please take me with you. No one here. No one here.” Connie pulled enough out of the translation to listen to the woman’s words rather than simply
