Area 51 Read Online Free PDF Page B

Franklin said as the 737 descended over head to a landing on the airstrip. He sounded concerned.
    "It's early. It usually doesn't come until five forty-five in the morning."
    Simmons looked through the goggles. The two ATVs had turned around and were now heading away. He thought that even more strange than the 737 coming early.

    GROOM LAKE AIRSTRIP, AREA 51
    T-142 HOURS, 13 MINUTES

    The 737 came to a halt a quarter mile away from the two C-130's. Turcotte followed Prague off and into a small building next to a hangar. Up against the base of a large mountain there was a cluster of buildings, several hangars, and what appeared to be a couple of barracks buildings, along with a control tower for the runway.
    "Stow your kit bag there, meat," Prague ordered.
    The other men were opening wall lockers and pulling out black jumpsuits and putting them on. Prague led Turcotte over to a supply room and began tossing him pieces of equipment, a similar jumpsuit leading the way, followed by a combat vest, black balaclava, black aviator gloves, and a set of AN-PVS-9 night vision goggles—the hottest technology in the field.
    Prague unlocked a large bin and pulled out a sophisticated-looking weapon.
    Turcotte nodded in appreciation.
    The NRO was supplying these guys with top-of-the-line gear. Turcotte took the weapon and checked it out. The gun was a 9mm Calico, with telescoping butt stock, built in silencer, hundred-round cylindrical magazine, and mounted laser sight.

    "It's zeroed in on the laser out to one hundred meters, flat trajectory," Prague informed him. "Out from there you raise about an inch per fifty meters." Prague looked at him.
    "I assume you have your own personal sidearm?"
    Turcotte nodded. "Browning High Power."
    "You can carry that, but only use it as a last resort. We like to stay silenced." Prague also handed him a headset with boom mike. "Voice activated, it's preset to my command frequency. Always have it on and powered," he ordered.
    "If I can't talk to you, you'd better be fucking dead, because you don't want to see or hear me again."
    Turcotte nodded and slipped it over his head, sliding the main battery pack on a cord around his neck.

    Prague slapped him on the shoulder, much harder than necessary. "Get changed and let's roll."
    Turcotte zipped up the coveralls and tugged on the combat vest, filling the empty pockets with extra magazines for the Calico. He also appropriated a few flash-bang grenades, two high-explosive minigrenades, two CS grenades, and placed them in pockets. He took his Browning out of his kit bag and slid it into the thigh holster rigged below the vest. For good measure he added a few more items from his kit bag: a leather sheath holding three perfectly balanced and highly honed throwing knives handmade for him by a knifesmith back in Maine went inside the jumpsuit, strapped over his right shoulder; a coiled steel wire garotte fitted inside one of the suit's pockets; and a slim, double-edged commando knife with sheath slid down the outside of the top of his right boot.
    Feeling fully dressed for whatever might occur, Turcotte joined the other men by the doors to the hangar. There were twenty-two men and Prague was apparently in charge. He spotted Turcotte.
    "You stay with me tonight, meat. Do what I tell you to do. Don't do nothing you aren't told to. You're going to see some strange things. Don't worry about anything. We got it all under control."
    If we have it all under control, Turcotte wondered, why do we need the guns? But he kept his mouth shut and looked out at what the other men were watching. A UH-60 Blackhawk helicopter, blades folded, had already been placed inside the first C-130. Two AH-6 attack helicopters--"little birds," as the pilots referred to them—were also being loaded onto the second one. The AH-6 was a small, four-man helicopter with a minigun mounted on the right skid. The only unit that Turcotte knew of that flew the AH-6 was Task Force 160, the army's classified