“They’ll just bring another truck in,” said Dog.
“At some point, maybe. But if you’re looking to keep them on the ground without taking apart the plane completely, that might work.”
It was a temporary measure to be sure, but it would be adequate for now. If the militants made any move to fuel it, they could still use the Flighthawk to disable it. Dog also could have Indy take a shot at cratering the ramp area from the military side of the airport.
“Let’s do it,” he told Zen.
“I’d like to launch Hawk Two,” added Zen, referring to the second Flighthawk.
“I don’t think we can;” said McNamara. “I have a fault on the program screen.”
“Nothing here,” said Zen.
“Can you do it with just Hawk One?”
“Not a problem.”
“Go„
Dazhou Ti turned the optical viewer to the left, making sure that the helicopter had gone. The viewer, similar to the periscope on a submarine, allowed him to survey the area without using his detectable sensors. Its field of vision was limited, however; he could see only a small swatch of the ocean or sky at a time.
The helicopter had left two or three men at the platform, but who they were wasn’t clear. He suspected either Australians or Americans, since he had not recognized the aircraft type as Malaysian — or Bruneian, for that matter.
It was hardly an academic point. A tug was due to meet him within an hour here. Despite considerable work by his crew, they had been unable to restart their main engines. Their emergency backup power was supplied by an electric generator. They had manually rerouted it to provide power to the in-port maneuvering system, but could make no more than two or three knots, and even that required shutting down the rest of the electrical systems. The power arrangements meant they could only use the cannon. It would have to be aimed and operated manually, and even then there were doubts about what effect the power drain would have on the rest of the ships’ systems. It was unlikely they could destroy the platform before the men there called for reinforcements.
Still, it was not in Dazhou’s nature to do nothing. All his life he had seen boldness rewarded.
“We will move to the east side of the platform,” he told his crew. “When we arrive, we will send a boarding party. I will lead the party myself,” he added on the spur of the moment. “There are no more than three men on the platform; they should be easy to overcome.”
“They’re blowing up the fuel trucks,” said Mack as the Flighthawk tucked left and lit its cannon on the other side of the civilian terminal. He crouched down though he was several hundred yards away.
He had to hand it to Zen — he was an efficient SOB. Anyone else would have taken two or three passes. But here the pilot had gone for the trifecta, swooshing three trucks in the space of maybe ten seconds.
“Why are they doing that?” said Sahurah next to him.
Mack shrugged, though he knew the answer — they didn’t want the EB-52 to take off, but had decided for some reason to hold off on blowing it up.
Lucky for him.
“You saved my life,” said Sahurah as the Flighthawk swooped upward. “Why?”
Good question, thought Mack.
“Why did you save me, or not try to escape?” asked Sahurah when he didn’t answer.
“Just stupid, I guess,” said Mack, watching as the Flighthawk made another pass and another fuel truck erupted in flames.
Why had the infidel saved his life? wondered Sahurah.
Had God moved him to do so?
Or had the devil?
What if neither had? What if he had acted solely on his own?
Sahurah put his hand on his hip over his holster, contemplating what had happened. He had been taught that Westerners, Americans especially, were thoroughly corrupt and without virtue. He’d seen ample examples of this during his life.
And yet the actions of his prisoner, surely meant to save him, were against every expectation. It was one thing for the man to be strong and brave — these were things he expected, considering that Mack Smith had an important position. But his actions were beyond that.
“Commander!” shouted one of his men, running toward him. Four other brothers, all with AK47s, trotted behind him. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” said Sahurah. “Take Mr. Smith back to the building where he was held. Treat him with the greatest respect.” He turned to Mack. “Remember, you are a prisoner.”
“Hard to forget,” replied Mack, following them toward the building.
Chapter 58
McKenna banked her Dragonfly low over the river, giving the tops of the nearby trees a good look at her belly. The Brunei army had fortified positions on the northern side of the bridge that led to Sukut, and had only a few scouts on the south. She couldn’t see them because of the thick jungle canopy, nor could she tell if there were rebels there.
“You have a truck moving on the road,” she told the Brunei army unit on the ground. “Pickup type truck. Rear is, uh, looks empty.”
The army sergeant on the other end of the line thanked her. Unlike yesterday, the responses were sharp and very focused.
McKenna flew over the road and then banked north, looking for any concentration of militants. The citizens of Sukut had rallied to the small army and police force there, swelling their ranks with volunteers. Reinforcements were due soon from Medit.
“This is Dreamland EB-52 Pennsylvania to unidentified aircraft operating near Sukut. Identify yourself,” crackled the radio.
“Who the hell are you calling unidentified?” snapped McKenna. “Why are you using Brunei Air Force communications frequencies?”
“Identify yourself,” responded the voice.
“Just like an American,” answered the pilot. “Dreamland EB-full-of-yourself-52, this is Brunei-Air-Force-kick-your-butt-and-spit-in-your-eye A-37B Dragonfly Dragon One. You are in sovereign Brunei territory,” she added. “State your purpose and position.”
There was a brief pause. McKenna began climbing and made sure her radar was in long-range scan. The scope was clear, though she knew the Megafortress’s stealthy characteristics meant it could be as close as ten miles away.
“Dragon One, this is Pennsylvania,” said another, older voice over the radio. “We are here to assess the situation.”
“Well, that’s damn American of you,” responded McKenna. “A day late and I’m going to guess a dollar short. What’s your location?”
“We’ve just finished eliminating the ground-to-air defenses at Brunei International Airport and disabled their fueling capacity.”
“What about our EB-52?” she asked.
“We haven’t touched it,” said the American. “It’s near your hangar at the base.”
McKenna felt a stab of pain in her ribs — she had hoped that Mack had been warned off and gone back to the Philippines. “Is the plane under the militants’ control?” added the voice.
”Unknown at this time.”
“The airport is clearly in militant control, as is the rest of the capital,” said the voice. “Do you have information to the contrary?”