“Captain Beasely,” Mado said, “when you have it under control, land at the airfield and drop me off.” It was the general’s first time being shot at and hit. His stomach was around his eyeballs.
“General, no way I can land this beast and get it airborne with only three engines on that short of a runway. These puppies are heavy. If you want on the ground, you’re going to have to make a nylon approach and landing. Got lots of extra chutes.” There was no answer. A few moments later Mado was back on the SatCom, talking to the command center in the Pentagon.
“Sergeant Major,” Jamison called from under the boxes in the rear of the dilapidated Japanese mini truck, “what’s happening? Where are we?”
“Quiet,” Kamigami commanded. They were parked on a side street leading to the back of the prison. It had taken them almost two hours to work their way unobserved down the hill and into the edge of town. There, Kamigami had hot-wired an old pickup truck that was parked next to a building. He was working under the dash. when the owner found them. The Iranian still had a look of confusion on his face when Jamison shot him in the head. It was the first time the lieutenant had ever seen a dead man, much less one that he had made that way.
Kamigami had bundled the stunned Jamison into the rear of the truck and buried him under a pile of boxes. He sat behind the steering wheel and had wrapped himself in a blanket, his pistol and helmet on the seat beside him, and driven through town. He had decided that his oriental face would draw less attention than, say, a black one. As he suspected, in the confusion following the attack on the prison, no one seemed to notice. Ten minutes later he had found the spot on the side street near the prison, and was in time to watch the AC-130 lay a cloud of fire-suppression on the barracks and the six loaded trucks escape.
“Someone’s coming,” he told the lieutenant as he gunned the engine and threw a U-turn.
The ZSU-23-4 was moving down the street toward them and he did not want the enemy troops he could see running behind it to commandeer their truck. He turned down a dirt alley as the Iranians ran by. When the last of the men had passed, he followed them. This time he explained what he was doing. “Lieutenant, we’re following some unfriendlies that came out of the barracks behind the prison. They look pissed and dangerous. I want to check ‘em out.”
“Shouldn’t we rejoin Romeo Team or check in on the radio?”
“Not yet. Want to maintain radio silence. I’ve got my whisper mike plugged in and have been listening to the chatter on the MX-360. Romeo Team is still blowing doors down on the third floor. They’ll be at that for at least another thirty minutes before all the POWs are free. We got time to join up.” He didn’t tell the lieutenant that the ZSU-23-4 was headed north. But then, that was in the general direction of the airfield where they wanted to go anyway …
The F-15’s TEWS painted overlapping hostile radar threats on the road leading from Shahabad to Kermanshah, and Jack’s wizzo was worried. “There’s at least one SA-8 and ZSU-23-4 moving down the road,” Furry told him. “There’s got to be more.”
“About what you’d expect with an armored battalion,” Jack said. “But we’re going to take a look anyhow. Let’s circle to the south and sneak up behind them.” He dropped his F-15 down onto the deck and headed south away from the highway and paralleled the mountains on the west side of the valley. He rolled into a 135-degree bank and turned up a shallow canyon that crossed the mountains and led into the next valley. When they crested the ridge, Furry hit the EMIS LIMIT switch and activated their radar. Then they were back to silent running as Jack headed north toward the highway.
Suddenly Furry called out. “Someone’s got us with a ZSU-23-4. Jamming now.” Furry hit the buttons that brought the electronic-counter-measures part of the TEWS alive. He watched his video monitor to be sure it was working. “Got ‘em. They won’t have the foggiest where we are.”
“Yeah, but they know we’re out here.” Jack dropped lower and pushed the throttles up, touching six hundred knots. He was doing easy jinks two hundred feet above the ground. “Look at that!” Furry, looking over Jack’s right shoulder, saw a convoy stretched out on the road in front of them. “Amb, check the left, I’ll check right. We’re going to cross right over and get the hell out of Dodge. None of this parallel-road reccy shit.” He dropped the jet even lower and flew around a low knoll, taking what terrain-masking he could. They flashed out from behind the knoll and bore down on the highway and crossed it at ninety degrees. Then they were clear and Jack was twisting and turning up another mountain valley.
“I counted eight T-72 tanks and at least six armored personnel carriers,” Furry said. “Maybe a dozen trucks.”
“Yeah. I got six tanks, four BTR-60s, Two SA-8s, and a ZSU-23-4 in the lead.” Jack’s eyes were better than his backseater’s. “They’re moving at about thirty miles an hour. Should reach the bridge in twenty to twenty-five minutes. Good thing Doucette and Ramon got it …” But he wasn’t thinking about the bridge. In his mind was the smoking wreckage that was their ejection module.
“It’s a shallow stream bed and the water’s low,” Furry told him. “It should be an easy crossing.”
“We better tell Lifter. Time they got out of there. Us too, almost bingo.” Bingo — the low fuel level that would force them to return to the KC-135 for an inflight refueling …
Carroll and Mustapha pulled the last of the rubble away and crawled through the low opening, wiggled under a reinforced concrete beam that had fallen into the basement and were at the door to Mary’s cell. “Mary,” he called, testing the door. It was locked.
“In here.”
He jerked at the handle. Nothing. Mustapha pushed him aside and slapped a chunk of C4 explosive on the lock. He quickly wired the blast cap to the timing fuse and attached the fuse igniter. “Take cover,” Carroll warned her, “we’re blowing the lock.” She told them she was under the bunk. Mustapha pulled the ring and they stepped back. The small charge blew the lock out of the heavy wooden door.
Carroll helped Mary out from under the bunk and to her feet. For a moment, they stood there, not touching, just looking at each other.
“Why did I know you’d come?”
“Because you were here. Where’s doc?”
She motioned at the wall. “Next cell, he’s in bad shape.”
They rushed out of her cell and found Mustapha testing the door to Landis’ cell. “The wall has shifted here.” Mustapha pointed to the left side of the door. “I think the door is supporting the roof.”
“We’re going to need help,” Carroll said. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
“Bill, I’m not leaving without doc. You go get help. Oh, there’s a prison guard here named Amini. I think he’s a CIA agent and I want to make sure he’s okay. See if you can find him.” Carroll didn’t argue, he knew Mary Hauser too well.
“Lifter, Stormy,” Jack radioed, still twenty miles away from the airfield. Stansell acknowledged. “Roger, Lifter,” Jack continued, “the armored column moving up the highway is approximately ten miles short of the highway bridge at Mahidashi. At current rate of travel will reach the bridge in twenty minutes. We count fourteen T-72 tanks, ten BTR-60s, twelve trucks, two SA-8s and a single ZSU-23-4. I am bingo minus one.”
Stansell understood that Jack was getting dangerously short on recovery fuel and was already a thousand pounds low. “Say status of bridge,” he radioed, “and Mover Two-Three.”