"Send a message to the SFOB and ask them for acknowledgment of," Hooker looked through the out log, "message number forty-three."
"Yes, Sergeant Major."
Hooker lit another cigarette as he waited, then took another stroll around the room, ending back where he had started from. "Well?"
The communications man shook his head. "I'm not getting anything from the SFOB."
Hooker frowned. "Go to backup."
He waited while the man switched to the backup terminal and sent the message. "Nothing, Sergeant Major. It's like they're not even on the air. I'm getting good bounce-backs off the satellite, so I know it's not on this end."
"Colonel," Hooker called out. "You'd better be aware of this. We've got no commo with the SFOB."
Hossey got out of his chair and hurried over. "What about backup?"
"We've tried it. Nothing. It's not this end. Our stuff is working."
Hossey bit his lip. What the hell was going on? "When was the last time you heard from the SFOB?"
"There's been nothing for more than four hours." Hooker showed him the log. "They didn't acknowledge our message that the Talon had departed."
Hossey looked at the clock. Fifteen minutes out. His gut feeling told him something was wrong. "Go clear voice to the SFOB. Maybe their decrypter is down."
He waited impatiently as the comm man called the SFOB in the clear. Still no answer. He looked at Hooker. "What do you think?"
Hooker shook his head worriedly. "Something's wrong. If they didn't acknowledge that departure message, it means they might not even know the team is on the way."
"They would have gotten ahold of us by now if their SATCOM was down, don't you think?"
Hooker shrugged. "I don't know, sir. You know how difficult it is getting through from the States to here on the phone lines."
"Shit!" Hossey exclaimed. Loss of communications with the SFOB didn't mean they had to abort, but it made him suspicious. This whole mission was flaky. He didn't like the idea of his team going into China.
Hossey grabbed the phone. He'd try the emergency phone number they'd been given for the SFOB at Fort Meade.
Meng looked up as a warning light flashed on his console. Someone was trying to get through from the FOB on the phone line. His initial reaction was relief that he had programmed the comm system to switch all such calls over to his computer — then he began to worry. Why would someone from the FOB try calling on the emergency number when they could use the SATCOM? There hadn't been a message from the FOB over the SATCOM for more than four hours, according to Meng's restricted message file.
A possible reason occurred to Meng in a moment of sickening realization. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he checked. The answer popped onto his screen. Someone here had shut down his SATCOM link with the FOB. Meng's mind rewound. He remembered telling Wilson that he had switched over the program. He pictured Wilson leaving. Damn! Meng thought. Wilson had stopped by the comm desk prior to leaving. Meng had seen him do it. The idiot had probably told Tresome to cut the link.
Meng shut down the emergency phone line and went to work to reopen the SATCOM link to his terminal.
Riley held six fingers aloft. "Six minutes!" He extended both hands, palms out. "Get ready!" The team members unbuckled their safety straps.
With both arms Riley pointed at the men seated along the outside of the aircraft. He pointed up. "Outboard personnel stand up."
The members of Team 3 staggered to their feet in the wildly swaying aircraft, using the static line cable and the side of the aircraft for support.
Curling his index fingers over his head, representing hooks, Riley pumped his arms up and down. "Hook up!"
Riley watched as each man hooked into the static line cable. As jumpmaster, Riley was already hooked up and facing the team as he screamed the jumpmaster commands. The loadmaster was holding onto Riley's static line and trying to keep him from falling over as Riley used both hands to pantomime the jump commands.
"Check static lines!"
Each jumper checked his snap link hooking into the cable and traced the static line from the snap link to where it disappeared over his shoulder. He then checked the static line of the man in front, from where it came over his shoulder to where it disappeared into his parachute.
"Check equipment!"
Each man made sure one last time that all his equipment was secured and his connections made fast on his parachute harness.
Riley cupped his hands over his ears. "Sound off for equipment check!"
Starting from Captain Mitchell, who slapped the man in front on the rear and yelled "OK," the yell and slap were passed from man to man until Comsky, who was to be the jumper behind Riley, yelled "All OK, Jumpmaster," giving the thumbs-up.
With all his jump commands done except the final "GO," Riley gained control of his static line from the loadmaster and turned toward the rear of the aircraft. He swayed to the front as the aircraft slowed down from 250 knots to 125 knots. Three minutes out. Then the ramp would open and he would lead the team off into the dark night.
Hossey slammed down the phone in anger. "The operator says I was connected to the number but it went dead." He looked at the clock and made a decision. "Cancel it. Call them back. This whole situation is too uncertain. It's better if we do nothing than go when it looks like our SFOB has disappeared. I'll take responsibility. We can always go again tomorrow night. Get me the Talon on voice. We still have twelve minutes."
"Yes, sir." The communications man went to work on his equipment.
The loadmaster leaned over Riley's shoulder and stuck an index finger in his face. Riley looked over his shoulder at the team and screamed: "One minute!"
Ten seconds later his knees buckled as the plane rapidly climbed the 250 feet to the minimum safe drop altitude. The noise level increased abruptly as a crack appeared in the ramp, growing into a gaping mouth. As the ramp leveled off, Riley stared out into the night. It was hard for him to believe that he was actually over China.
Fighting the bulging rucksack hanging in front of his legs, Riley got to his knees. Grabbing the hydraulic arm on the right side of the ramp, he peered around the edge of the aircraft, looking forward and blinking in the fierce wind. It took a few seconds to get oriented, but there it was in the moonlight. Only about twenty seconds away loomed a lake. It had the right shape. He could see a river — it had to be the Sungari — to the left of the lake. Despite himself, Riley was impressed. More than two hours of low-level flying, an en route change, and they were right on target.
He stood up awkwardly and yelled over his shoulder as he shuffled out to within three feet of the edge of the ramp. "Stand by!"
Riley stared at the red light burning above the top of the ramp. As soon as the light turned green he'd go. He moved a few inches closer to the edge. Looking down he could see the leading shore of the lake below.
The green light flashed. Riley yelled "GO!" over his shoulder and was gone. Comsky followed. Then Chong.
As the sixth jumper approached, the light turned red. Olinski ignored the stop signal. If one went, all went. The rest of the team did the same. The loadmaster lunged forward from the side of the plane and tried to grab the last jumper as he went by. Captain Mitchell shrugged off with a surge of adrenaline and stepped off into the swirling air.