A noise caught Bruce’s attention — a piercing whine that started to rocket up through the frequencies. Then a flash — and the plantation exploding in a fireball. A burst of flames rolled over the house, igniting the wood frame. The sound of a jet thundering overhead caused him to turn, but he couldn’t see anything in the clouds.
Seconds later there came the dull thud of something huge hitting the ground, ripping through the jungle — and the subsequent shock of an explosion. Bruce didn’t wait to guess what had happened, who in Maddog had just bought the farm.
He slowly positioned his body, then rolled to the helicopter. He tried to keep the plantation in view as a reference point as he rolled, around and round.…
Shots hit the mud around him. Bruce stopped rolling and swung his M-16 up.
The sniper stood at the edge of the clearing, aiming at Bruce.
Cervante brought up his rifle. Pompano, or the American? He knew that Pompano had the stamina to survive, but this American needed to be taken care of. He pulled off a round of shots.
Bruce squeezed the trigger as hard as he could, trying to coax more energy into the bullets. He fanned the area, spraying metal into the jungle.
A second bomb hit the plantation, shooting debris and burning wood high into the air. Bruce allowed the brilliant flames from the explosion to guide him as he covered the jungle with round after round of bullets. When his weapon ran out of ammunition, he quickly inserted another cartridge.
He brought the M-16 up.…
The first bullet ripped through Cervante, stunning him. It did not even hurt! He was a god, indestructible, able to accomplish anything he pleased.…
Seven other bullets spun him around, causing him to fling out his rifle. His vision blurred; acidic vomit crawled up his throat.
The last thing he saw was Yolanda’s body, her silhouette against the burning plantation house.…
By the light of the fire Bruce could make out a figure sprawled face down in the mud, just inside the clearing. A rifle lay by his side.
The sound of moaning caught Bruce’s attention. He dragged his M-16, but as he approached the helicopter set the rifle down. “Mr. Adleman? Gould … Head?”
No answer. He had to get in.
Bruce pushed up and tried to straighten. Flames still flickered inside the Black Hawk. He could use the helicopter’s structure to support himself when he entered. He had started to hop in when Pompano’s voice stopped him.
“Bruce.”
Bruce turned. Pompano’s face was bloodied and his left arm hung limp by his side. But in his right hand he held the pistol given to him by the First Special Operations Squadron — the thirty-eight with a silencer.
Pompano motioned with the gun. “Bruce … leave your vice president alone.”
“What?”
“Move away.”
Bruce reached out and placed a hand on the Black Hawk’s fuselage. It was not hot to the touch, so he supported himself. “Pompano … we’re through.…”
The roar of a jet rolled over the clearing. A volley of bullets from the strafing fighter’s cannon tore into the house and jungle, taking out the rest of the vehicles that had been untouched. The jet engines echoed throughout the area, finally dying with deep reverberations.
Bruce glanced at the chopper. “Pompano — the helicopter will explode! We’ve got to get him out of here!” Pompano simply clicked back the trigger. “Pompano! For God’s sake, why? After all this … why?!”
The Filipino spoke softly. “I only went with you to save my daughter. She is safe.”
“But the vice president!”
“No — he is your President now. And what do you think your Chief Executive will do about the Philippines when he takes office? Be kind to them and pull your bases out, because he was mistreated?” Pompano shook his head. “I assure you, if Adleman lives, the bases will stay. This whole event will only convince him of the necessity of keeping an American presence.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Why did you help rescue him?”
“I have already told you — to save my daughter.” Pompano’s eyes grew misty.
“But to let Adleman die …”
“… would surely convince most Americans, your public, that the Philippines are not worth their while, not worth the billions they are spending here. For if your President is not safe here, then no other American would be safe.”
Bruce stared. He drew in a breath. “I can’t allow you—”
Pompano motioned with his head. “Move away from the helicopter.”
Yolanda’s voice interrupted them. “Father.”
Pompano kept the pistol trained on Bruce. “Yolanda — get back.”
“No, Father.” Bruce swung his eyes to where she stood. She held a rifle, the one the sniper had used, and it was pointed at Pompano. Her father. “Father — don’t make me use this.”
“Yolanda — you do not know what you are doing!”
“Yes I do. Leave Bruce alone.”
Pompano hesitated. “Little one … Think of the future of your land, your people.”
“I am, Father. This … this is a different world now. We cannot go back to the old ways. I have seen this vice president suffer. He tried to make them stop using me. My people raped me … not the Americans.”
Pompano took a step backward. “Yolanda, little one. You don’t know what this will do to us. The chance this gives us …”
“Put down the gun, Father.”
“I cannot … This is my life.”
Yolanda’s voice wavered. “Father?”
They stared at each other. Bruce tested his leg. If he’d been in better shape he’d have leapt at the old man, tried to take away the gun.
Pompano whispered. “I can’t, Yolanda.” He turned back to Bruce and raised the gun slightly.
Yolanda screamed. “No!” Her rifle wavered.
Bruce leaned to the left, onto his good leg.…
He fell to the ground and rolled to the side, away from the helicopter. Three shots rang out. A bullet tore into Bruce’s arm. It felt like someone had taken a hot needle and jabbed it straight through his flesh. Another bullet whizzed by his head, spraying mud.
He grabbed his arm and rolled over, expecting to be finished off.
Nothing.
Bruce peered up. Yolanda stood with her hands over her mouth. Pompano grimaced. Bent over, he gripped his leg where Yolanda had shot him.
Bruce started to push up. Yow! Between the arm and his right ankle, he was falling apart.
He hobbled into the helicopter, stepping over the bottom edge of the hatch.
Peering around the edge of the cockpit, he saw Gould and Head strapped into their seats, night-vision goggles in place. A line of blood ran from Head’s mouth.
A moan came from the back.
Bruce tried pulling himself into the craft, but couldn’t make it with one arm. He hopped around to the back and looked inside.…
Crumpled up against the corner, one of the gunners and Vice President Adleman were pushed under the troop seat that ran down the length of the back. Bruce reached in and grabbed Adleman’s arm. The vice president groaned.
It took Yolanda’s help, but ten minutes later, Gould and Adleman were lying at the edge of the jungle. Bruce pulled Pompano away from the others. All three were still alive.