9:15 A.M.
IN THE AIR
LONG ISLAND SOUND
Both helicopters were similar in their setup: Sikorsky UH-60s off the deck of the USS Eisenhower, which was north of the coast of Connecticut.
The choppers swooped in toward the coastline, cutting above the water at a furious pace.
Each chopper was painted in a special paint diffused with microparticles of amber stealth alloy, which made the helicopters blend into the coloring of the sky to anyone looking up, and more importantly, refracted and confused advanced radar systems.
Minelli, in the lead chopper, peeked into the small cockpit of the Black Hawk. Minelli was geared up. Tight-quarters combat, daylight— he wore a camouflage set in white, olive, black, and blue, a tactical vest, and clutched a beefed-out M4.
“What do we got?” he said.
“Six and thirty,” said one of the pilots, over comms, without moving.
Minelli tapped his ear.
“CENCOM, this is Lieutenant Colonel Lincoln Minelli, SEAL Team 4.”
“Go, Colonel.”
“I need access into whoever is running the extraction.”
“Hold.”
A voice came on. It was Perry.
“Who is this?” said Perry.
“Minelli, lieutenant colonel, U.S. Navy, SEAL Team 4.”
“Nice to meet you,” said Perry. “I was on Four, too.”
“I know.”
“Where are you?” said Perry.
“We’re a few minutes out,” said Minelli. “What are you thinking?”
“I want a lead chopper with green-line backup a hundred feet up, but that’s just a suggestion,” said Perry. “Remember your combat training; this is a force recon. I didn’t fly choppers but I certainly flew in my share of choppers. I always think speed and eyes. You do what you need to do.”
“You got it.”
“You’ve got a team of UDT coming in by water,” said Perry. “Don’t shoot ’em.”
“Affirmative,” said Minelli. “We are on that. Do we know where the president is?”
“We’ve lost contact with the president. Last communication, he was on floor eighteen. This is hopefully going to be a rooftop extraction,” said Perry. “If POTUS isn’t there when you get there, you need to enter the building and get down to eighteen.”
“Roger that, Mack,” said Minelli.
Minelli stepped back into the cabin. He looked out a window and saw the other helicopter cut up, tracking behind, a hundred feet above, moving gradually into a tight attack pattern with the lead chopper. Minelli glanced through the cockpit window and studied the scene—a smoke-filled skyline above iconic skyscrapers. He registered the four smoke stacks above the island of Manhattan as the choppers approached, moving closer. The city seemed infinitely large and the two choppers tiny against the smoky sky.
At least, that’s how he hoped their approach would be perceived by anyone on the ground.
Then he saw the tower of blue glass that was the United Nations.
A section of the building itself—several lower floors—was destroyed and on fire.
Minelli turned back in to the cabin. He tapped his comms, tying him into the other commandos as well as everyone on the second chopper, trailing just behind.
“We’re getting close,” said Minelli, looking at the other Navy SEALs, six in all. “This is a recon of the president of the United States. If he’s not on the roof, we will need to deploy and engage. Last comms, he was on eighteen. Watch your fields of fire. We have the lead and will take the roof. Air Two, you approach in an RPO line above the East River and hold until we have POTUS—or something goes wrong, in which case move in. This a binary operation and the exfiltration of the president is the only objective. Pilots should assume enemy engagement. Let’s get there fast and hard. Eyes out the windows, everyone’s, but especially pilots’.”
The pair of Black Hawks moved at the maximum capability of their design—227 mph—across the Atlantic Ocean, just off the coast, each chopper tilting forward slightly, then they split apart above Brooklyn, slashing left and down, right and up, maintaining speed. The lead chopper balanced out at approximately rooftop elevation as the backup chopper soared several hundred feet higher. They both cut south until they were at the confluence of the Hudson and East Rivers. Swerving again, they flew up the East River.
In each Black Hawk cockpit, the pilots wore dark helmets with black visor glass, enabling them to not only fly the helicopters but to also manage the weapons systems bolted to the underbellies of the highly customized choppers. It was also more reliable than looking out through the front windows. The air was a cloud of gray, white, and black smoke and soot. At certain moments, it was impossible to even see the Manhattan skyline. The pilots were going on instruments only.
Minelli leaned in.
“Evasive measures, guys, both choppers,” said Minelli. “Jack up your fuckin’ radar. This reminds me of getting shot down in Baghdad.”
“Me, too,” said one of the pilots.