“Let’s duck through this run of trees,” suggested Lang. “Then angle back.”
They began trotting through the jungle, going several hundred yards west before angling back in the direction of the road and the village they had visited earlier. When they had the highway in sight, they stopped to catch their breaths. They couldn’t hear anyone following.
“Good going back there, Colonel,” said Lang.
“Good going to you, too.”
“You want to give that little radio a go again or what?”
“Yeah” Dog took it from his pocket and put it back on voice, making another broadcast. After several more tries, he, gave it up, slipping it back to beacon. The battery was limited, but Dog figured that there was no sense trying to conserve it; they’d either be saved or dead by the time it ran out the way things were going.
“Nobody home, huh?” said Lang.
“Not yet.”
“We’ll just have to take care of ourselves, that’s all. You think we should head back to the village?”
“I think that’s a better idea than staying here”
“Maybe, maybe not,” said Lang. It was the first time since they’d met that he’d expressed anything close to doubt, and Dog felt instantly uneasy.
“I don’t like to sit when I can be moving, if you know what I mean,” added the soldier. “I say we move”
“I agree,” said Dog.
“All right, let’s move out then. But listen, Colonel, no bullshit now — you get tired, you tell me, okay? I mean, no offense, but you got to talk up if you’re tired”
Under other circumstances, Dog might have been insulted — or even touched. But now he just shrugged. “Don’t worry about me. And you can call me Dog”
“Yes, sir,” said Lang, getting to his feet.
Chapter 89
Zen launched the Flighthawk and hastily tipped its nose down in the direction of the mortars. The radar beeped as it picked up a shell, and C³ began a quick set of calculations to determine not only the precise launch point but the best angle for an attack.
“Bree, I have a target.”
“I just need some altitude so I can launch one of the air-to-ground missiles,” she said.
“If there’s anything left of them when I’m through,” Zen told her, accelerating into the attack, “you’re welcome to them”
The terrorists had set up a pair of large mortars roughly three and a half miles from the base. Five men were working the two tubes, which were either 81 millimeter British or 82 millimeter Russian weapons, in both cases old but reliable and potentially devastating weapons. The guerillas had a van just to the north of the clearing as Zen approached. He put the Flighthawk’s nose onto the firing team on the left and pressed his trigger, working in a diagonal through the mortar area and into the van. His first shots missed both the mortar and the men serving it, but the vehicle exploded almost immediately. By the time he turned off it was engulfed in flames.
He came back and looked for another target beyond the thick cloud of black smoke. A long dirt road ran through the jungle toward a paved road to the west; Zen followed along it but saw nothing. He saw a reflection from a ridge to the north as he turned and headed toward it, guessing that there was a spotter using binoculars there. Sure enough, he saw figures scrambling and caught the outline of a gun in the magnified viewer. Zen pushed down to fire at them but by the time he got in range they had ducked away; he pounded the ground with shells but it was like trying to hit a flea with a spitball.
“Ground is reporting that they’re no longer under mortar attack,” said Breanna. “They have about a dozen guerillas trying to fight their way in from the southwest, near the end of the strip. They’ve radioed to another Malaysian unit for support. No response yet.”
“Yeah,” said Zen. He climbed back in the direction of the air base. “If you can get them to mark the position, I’ll make a pass with the cannon.”
“The guerillas are in white and they’re coming up the ravine,” she said.
“Yeah, yeah, I see them,” said Zen. He pushed the Flight-hawk’s wing down, swooping into a wide arc to the far side of the ravine the enemy was using for cover. Zen walked the Flighthawk down the ditch, working the cannon back and forth.
“Zen, can you do that one more time? They want to use you as cover for a counterattack,” said Breanna.
“Hawk leader,” he confirmed, pulling back around and repeating his run from the opposite direction. He could see movement on both sides of the ravine but concentrated on the ditch itself, which had ten or twelve soldiers in it.
“You talk to Alou?” he asked Breanna.
“Negative.”
Zen’s path brought him over the airfield. He could see the other Megafortress at the end of the runway. Part of its right wing had been chewed off by an explosion and the nose had been mangled. The plane rested on its belly.
“Zen, I’m picking up a distress signal on the UHF band,” said Breanna.
“Yeah,” he said as the chirp flooded over the circuit. “Did Indy get off the field?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “Stand by. Let me see if I can track it down.”
Zen spotted someone moving near the aircraft. He hoped they’d gotten out and the signal was just a glitch.
“I have the source three and a half miles south of the base,” said Breanna. “I’m marking it. Ground’s asking for more support back by that ravine”
“Roger that,” said Zen, pulling the Flighthawk around.
Starship didn’t realize that Kick had stayed back near the plane until the gunfire had nearly stopped. One of the Special Tactics people had found a medical kit and was trying to clean and bandage Starship’s arm, which he’d bashed up pretty badly somewhere along the way.
“I’m okay. I have to go back and get my friend out,” Starship told him. “I’m really all right.”
“Just hang on until the area’s secure,” said the air force special operations soldier.
“Yeah, okay,” said Starship. But he stood up and started moving toward the aircraft anyway. He saw a Flighthawk whip overhead and unleash its cannon. The sight locked him in place; he watched the small aircraft whip upward, disappearing in a blink of an eye.
“Kick,” he said, moving again toward the plane. “Kick!”
The joints in his knees were so unsteady he wobbled from side to side as he reached the wing of the giant plane. He hauled himself up, using the Flighthawk to get a boost, and then ran up along the top of the big plane. He navigated around the hatchways to the rear compartments and threw himself down to peer inside the opening over the pilot’s seat.
Major Alou stared up at him, his face a macabre death mask. “I’m sorry,” he told Alou.
He looked to the right but didn’t see Kick. “Kick! Kick! You asshole!” he shouted to his friend. “Get the hell out of there! Kick! What are you doing?”
He thought he heard Kick’s voice behind him somewhere. He looked around but didn’t see him. There was another shout, and he crawled to the side of the plane.
“Lieutenant, you better get off that plane,” shouted the Air Force Special Tactics soldier from the edge of the runway. “You’re an easy target up there”
“My friend — Kick, the other Flighthawk pilot. He went back inside.”
“No, sir, he’s down here”
“He is?” Starship climbed down the front of the smashed up windscreen and bashed nose, jumping to the ground. His knees gave way and he crumpled in what seemed like slow motion. As soon as he hit the ground he rolled back up and started to run to the side of the field.