The room went quiet. The PLA Air Force general went red with anger.
General Chen looked amused. “What would you suggest, Lena?”
“General, allow me to speak with my Russian contact. They have a significant submarine presence near military bases on the east coast of America. Those submarines could gain reconnaissance — targeting information on the naval positions. And it is possible the Russians have a number of cruise missiles that could be used to severely damage critical air force installations. The same installations that are at this very moment improving the American anti-ship missile capability.”
General Chen nodded. “I like this idea. Let the Russians lose some of their submarines and help soften up American forces. It would save ours for when they are truly needed.”
Lena said, “If the Russians agree to this, they will likely want to keep plausible deniability, for political reasons.”
“What does that mean?”
Lena said, “We will need to tell the world it was us.”
“Even better.” General Chen smiled.
Lena said, “Then I will speak with my Russian contact.”
32
Victoria expected to die tonight. But she had to try something.
Over the past couple of weeks, the number of Chinese guards at the camp was reduced to support the war effort. The American prisoners had been used more and more for manual labor. Under the guards’ supervision, the Americans had, in small numbers, been made to participate in more cooking, cleaning, and construction efforts. Most of these duties had previously gone to what Victoria’s men called the “locals.”
Victoria had now met with the scientist’s wife several times. During their conversations, she revealed that her husband had been recruited by the CIA. He was an expert on some type of materials science processes that made hypersonic weapons more effective. But the Chinese had captured him the day they landed in Peru, and he was now being forced to work at the research facility next to the POW camp. He knew that his wife was talking to the Americans, and Victoria was doing everything she could to send a signal back to the US.
They had sent Morse code transmissions from the local military jeep twice more. But when Chinese military personnel finally tracked down the source of the transmission, they killed the fat local soldier. Victoria was thankful it was just him.
Plug had been put to work in the laundry room, where he received regular updates on the outside world from Rojas’s wife, also working there. The “local” prisoners had occasional access to outside information that Plug would then pass on to the prisoner network using tap code, where it would be relayed to Victoria.
One such contact was the food supply truck driver, who traveled to the camp weekly from a nearby town. He had informed them of General Chen’s brutal actions.
“The truck driver said that executions have already begun in other prison camps,” Plug said. “They’ve been shooting the prisoners and then burning the bodies in pits. Burn pits that never stop burning. Ash falling on the nearby towns. The truck driver said that yesterday a group of Chinese soldiers began using diggers to create a big pit about a mile down the road from here.”
Victoria could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise as she watched Captain Tao from their position in the prison yard. The Chinese PLA officer, visible sitting in his second-floor office, was speaking with several of the guards. All of them wore serious expressions. Tao didn’t normally meet with so many guards in his office. In fact, Victoria couldn’t remember ever seeing that many in there at once.
“Your escape plan,” she said. “Can the timeline be moved up?”
Plug said, “We don’t have everything ready yet, but how soon were you thinking?”
“Tonight. It’s got to be tonight.”
They started after midnight. The only guard on duty was asleep. Victoria could hear him snoring. Plug had received the key from Rojas’s wife, who had it specially made by a metalsmith in town. He unlocked his cell door first, then began working on the others. It was slow going, and every sound caused them to stop. Each footstep or sniff. Every metallic slide of a prison cell door was excruciatingly loud to her oversensitive ears.
Then came the hard part. Killing the guard.
Victoria selected the chief and Plug to do it. The chief had rolled out of BUDS years ago due to an injury, but even after weeks in prison, he was heavily muscled. Plug was also athletic, a former football player. She just prayed that they would be quick and quiet so as not to alert the other guards.
Nearly one hundred prisoners of war were hunched down at the foot of their cells, waiting in darkness. If the guard towers turned on their spotlights, they would illuminate the rows of emaciated Americans kneeling in the gravel.
Plug and the chief crept toward the sleeping guard. They had only minutes until the two laundry trucks were supposed to break through the main gate. Victoria tried not to think about the probability of success. She knew the plan was flawed, but returning to US soil wasn’t her only goal. They needed to do everything possible to help win the war. Even if they could escape for a few hours and force Chinese troops to search for them for a few days… that would help the war effort. And if they died tonight, it was better to go down fighting.
It was honorable.
It was her duty.
But it still frightened the shit out of her.
The rumble of a diesel engine echoed through the jungle. She peered at the dimly lit clock barely visible through the mess hall window. If that was their truck, it was early.
One of the tower lights turned on, illuminating the dirt road in front of the camp’s main entrance. Victoria looked at Plug and the chief, only feet away from the snoring guard.
The diesel engine grew louder. It was their truck. She could see two men in the front seat, each wearing a mask. One of the search lights came on.
A whistle sounded, and Victoria snapped her head to look at the snoring guard.
Only he wasn’t snoring now. The whistle had woken him.
Even in the dark, she could see his wide, horrified eyes as he took in the prisoners making their way toward him.
The guard began screaming something that sounded like, “HOW-YEE! HOW-YEE!” Now more tower searchlights came on and more whistles sounded, this time from the towers. Then a gunshot, and one of the prisoners fell to the ground, dead. The others hit the deck, seeking cover. More gunshots. Victoria could see Chinese soldiers aiming rifles at the laundry truck, now parked, a spider web of cracked glass covering the windshield.
More guards ran to the prison cells, training their weapons on the retreating prisoners. Plug and the chief were backtracking, holding up their hands.
Captain Tao had them all lined up in the center courtyard within minutes. The guards did a count. Captain Tao screamed something, and the guards stuffed them all back in their cells.
All except for the chief.
They took him away, and out of sight. Captain Tao stood over her cell as it happened. The crack of a rifle shot. And then another. The American prisoners were screaming bloody murder, hands clenched on metal bars, shaking their locked cell doors. Even holding rifles, the prison guards looked nervous.
Captain Tao stared down Victoria, who, jaw clenching, stared right back at him. He motioned at her, and the guards began to head toward her cell.
Here it was.
Her end.
The other prisoners were howling as they watched the guards approach her. Swearing. Spitting and throwing dirt and human excrement. Anything to stop another brother from being murdered. Anything to stop Victoria’s execution.